Breathless (The House of Rohan 3)

He whispered her name, so softly it could be the sound of the wind through the fresh leaves outside the moon-shadowed window. And then he laughed soundlessly, at what an idiot he was being. Moon-mad indeed.

He pushed back from the door. The first thing he was doing after he dropped her off at her family home was head straight back to Beggar’s Ken, grab Grace by the hand and take her up against the nearest hard surface.

And then he’d find Lady Blanche and do the same. And then see if he could get the two of them together—right now he felt as if he could take on half a dozen hungry women at once, he was so fucking randy.

He turned, silent, letting out his pent-up breath, not sure if it was relief or regret. And he started back down the stairs.

Jane lay in her bed, breathless and unmoving. She heard the footsteps, slow and faintly unsteady, coming up her stairs, and she knew who it was. He’d been drinking a fair amount, Mrs. Grudge had said with a cluck of disapproval, excusing herself early to see to him. So Jane had eaten her dinner in solitary splendor, waiting to see if anyone would come by. She’d even opened the door, just a crack, and waited, long into the evening, but there was no noise from the taproom beyond but the muffled sound of a few voices, and then eventually silence.

So she’d closed the door again and headed upstairs for her usual struggle with her gown and undergarments. Never in her life had she been without her maid, and she appreciated her absent servants’ efforts more than ever.

Speaking of which, what did her maid Hester and Miranda’s abigail make of their mistresses’ sudden disappearance? She hadn’t even stopped to think of that.

She’d find out soon enough. Tomorrow, in fact. Tomorrow, when she’d be back in her old life and Jacobs the womanizer would be long gone, ensuring her safety. Safety.

If she let Jacobs seduce her, she thought with a snort of amusement, at least he’d know how to get her blasted clothes off without much effort.

Or maybe he’d simply push her down on the bed and pull up her skirts. She could certainly manage her drawers on her own—it was the rows of tiny buttons at her sleeves and her back, and the corset ties that annoyed her, but in the end she managed. No need for a lover after all, she thought

wearily.

She’d be so happy to get into fresh clothes again. Back to her own bed, the comfort of her maid and her family, her future mapped out in front of her.

She heard him in the room beneath her, and she muttered a polite curse under her breath. If she’d just stayed down there a little bit longer she could have seen him, talked to him. Harmless enough. Though she wasn’t quite certain why she wanted to do that.

Anyway, it would have been a great deal longer. She’d been in bed for hours, tossing and turning. She’d even slept for a bit, then woken again, from a strange dream in which her mysterious jewel thief had kissed her once again, picked her up in his arms and carried her into the light, and she’d looked up into his handsome face and seen Jacobs.

Ridiculous. If a man was clever enough and well-spoken enough to be a jewel thief then he’d hardly be driving a carriage to dispose of an unwanted female.

For that’s what she felt like. Unwanted, awkward, in the way. Not that her parents ever made her feel that way. They loved her dearly, and her older brother doted on her, as well. But she knew the way her parents looked at each other, the deep passion that still ran between them, the kind of passion that wasn’t to be her fate. And she knew she needed to let them be on their own.

When she heard the booted footstep on the first stair her heart slammed to a stop. And started again on the second step. There was nothing up here but her bedroom, no one up here but her. Lying in bed in the nightgown Mrs. Grudge had brought her, along with a few other necessities. And she heard another step, and she sat up, her hand to her throat.

She hadn’t locked her door. There’d been a key all right and handy, and she hadn’t used it. Hadn’t she heard tales of robbers who came upon lonely inns and slaughtered the guests asleep in their beds?

But she knew those footsteps. It could only be Jacobs. Though why in the world would she suppose the handsome coachman would have an eye for someone like her?

He was far beneath her in every way, she reminded herself. One didn’t speak to servants; one didn’t even look at them. Though in truth her parents were far more casual than that, and treated the vast number of servants who kept Montague House going with kindness and respect.

Author: Anne Stuart

And the Rohans as well weren’t particularly starchy. Not that anyone would consider hopping into bed with a coachman, no matter how handsome he was. It simply wasn’t done.

Not that a betrothed, virginal young lady should consider hopping into bed with anybody but her husband, and only that well after the marriage ceremony. It was too bad she couldn’t view the inevitable ceremonial deflowering with the excitement that was rising with each of his footsteps on the narrow, twisty stairs.

He reached the top, and she let out a squeak of excitement and dismay, one she quickly smothered as she clapped both hands over her mouth. It took but another step or two to reach her door, and she waited, holding her breath, for the door handle to move.

She heard a soft thump, and she considered calling out. Good sense kept her silent. The door handle remained still. He would knock, so as not to scare her. He wouldn’t want to frighten her, after all. Particularly since, if he didn’t know she was hoping, expecting him to follow her up those stairs, and she’d be likely to scream the house down at the first sign of an intruder.

She wouldn’t scream. She closed her eyes, and she could feel him on the other side of the door, and she waited, breathless.

Until she heard him turn around and start back down the stairs again, leaving her alone in her virginal bed.

Safe and sound. And weeping.

20

The sun came out on the sixth day Miranda was at Pawlfrey House, and for a moment she simply stared at the window in shock. The bright beams turned the lingering raindrops on the windows into diamonds, and it was suddenly warm.