His jaw clenched. “There is no betrothal.”
She chuckled without mirth. “Lady Philomena introduced herself to me as your betrothed. Do you take me for a fool?”
“There was an understanding,” he admitted, tone low, “between families. The announcement was to come. But it never did—and now, it never will.” He stepped closer, tension rolling off him. “Lady Philomena was not what I was looking for.”
Her heart jolted, but she forced herself to calm. “Then by all means, go and find what you are looking for, and leave me in peace.”
Silence crackled in the air.
William’s gaze locked on hers, fierce and unrelenting. “Peace?” His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You know therewill never be peace between us. Do you truly think I could want anyone else?”
Jane turned her face aside. Her voice was steady, but low. “I think I do not measure up, my lord, to be more than your mistress.”
His breath caught. “I never used that word for you.”
“You didn’t have to,” she said, her spine straightening as she held his gaze with wounded dignity. “That is what the world will name it. And in truth, that is what I am to you.”
He flinched as if struck. “You are more to me than that.”
“More,” she said bitterly, “but never enough.”
“Jane—” His hand lifted helplessly, then fell. His jaw worked, torn. “You mean the world to me. But you know I cannot give you the world.”
No words came. She wanted to tell him that he had given her more than he knew—that part of him lived within her now, growing stronger by the day. But still, she could not bring herself to reveal it. Perhaps, once her future was secure, it would be easier.
She laughed then, brittle as glass. “No. You cannot. And when you marry, it will not be me. You will have your duchess, and I—” her throat tightened “—I will carry the memory alone.”
His breath came hard, his chest heaving with the force of what he could not say. “You told me once you wanted passion,” he said, his tone rough, almost pleading. “That you’d rather face ruin than go to your grave not knowing it.”
“I did,” she said fiercely. “And I do not regret it. But you and I both knew it could not last. It is over.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them. He looked at her as though standing on the edge of a precipice. She looked back, unflinching, though her hands trembled in her lap.
Something in him broke. His restraint loosed like a bowstring. In two strides he was across the room, seizing her arms and crushing his mouth to hers.
She twisted in his grasp, hands splayed against his chest, but he drove her back step by step until the desk caught her hips. Then his lips claimed hers again, deeper and more furious, like a man starved.
“William—”
“Don’t tell me to stop,” he muttered, harsh against her cheek. “Don’t.”
She pushed at him once more, then stilled. The tremor at his touch betrayed her. She wanted him. Even now.
He met her gaze, dark with hunger and something dangerously close to knowing. He lifted her onto the desk in a swift, rough motion, papers scattering to the floor. Her back pressed to the wall, her skirts bunched high in his fists.
She braced her palms flat on the desk to steady herself. Cool air brushed her bared thighs, and terror struck that he might see—might realize her secret. But he was too frenzied, fumbling at his own clothes, freeing the hardness that had strained against his breeches.
He thrust into her with a groan, urgent, heedless. Her gasp broke into a cry, muffled as she bit down on her lip. His grip was fierce at her hips, every movement driven by a need too long denied.
Jane closed her eyes, her head tipped back against the wall, the folds of her gown spilling forward to conceal what he must not yet learn. She clung to the desk, letting him drive into her, every nerve alive with longing and dread.
At last his body shuddered against hers, breath torn from him in a harsh groan. When it was done, he sagged for a moment, then tried to gather her close, bending to kiss her.
Her hand shot up, pushing against his chest, barring him from her. His eyes widened, hurt flashing in them.
“You got what you wanted of me,” she said, her voice cold, brittle. “Now you must leave.”
“Jane—”
