Page 6 of The Widow Wore Plaid

Glancing at the timepiece yet again, she sighed and rearranged the folds of her dressing gown. Kinellan must have had more business to attend to than just that with his aunt. After their conversation in the garden, Jane had returned to the ballroom. To have retired too early would have been unacceptable as she was the de facto hostess. It would likely have been remarked upon as well. So she’d danced with Charlotte’s husband—Nash was an exceptional dancer—and then Matthew had begged the next waltz, so she’d stayed in company longer than expected. Many large men, like Lord Lathbury, didn’t dance well. They were often unsure of how to move their bodies gracefully on the dance floor and therefore took no joy in the exercise. But Matthew certainly acquitted himself well. As did Kinellan.

He’d not partnered her again, which was understandable, but neither had he sought her out for conversation, which would have been perfectly acceptable. When she was certain he meant to ignore her for the rest of the evening, she’d pled a headache to her friends—which had fooled no one—and had returned to her chamber to ready herself to steal one last moment of pleasure with her lover.

Of course, it really needn’t be their last.

Desperately Jane tried to stifle the annoying voice in the back of her mind that kept insisting she could simply tell him she had decided to accept one of his former proposals. He didn’t need to propose again. And this was completely acceptable because women were allowed to change their minds about such decisions.

Did she indeed wish to change her mind?

That was the question she’d been struggling with all day. All month, actually. Ever since she’d become painfully aware of Kinellan’s sudden silence on the topic of marriage. She should have been grateful that he’d done as she had asked and steered clear of the subject. But even louder her whispering voice had asserted that what she really wanted was another proposal.

That aggravating voice always became loudest just after she and Kinellan had made love and were lying in one another’s arms, sated and sleepy, or laughing and teasing themselves into another fit of passion. At that point, sometimes as she was drifting off to sleep, the bothersome voice bluntly told her to stop deluding herself and tell Kinellan she’d changed her mind so, yes, please, she wanted to marry him.

Well, she’d ignored that voice before and would do it again. Yes, she could admit she loved Kinellan, and the little voice would gloat in glee. But that was never the true issue. The question that tormented her was would love be enough for her to give up her independence. If the laws of the land had made marriage anything but the loss of all the rights for a woman, she’d be the Marchioness of Kinellan this moment. But English law was absolute. If she married, her husband assumed all of her property, save anything agreed upon in her settlements, and he became the guardian of her children. A husband took away all rights for her to choose—anything.

The hardest thing to come to terms with was that she knew Lord Kinellan was a good man. She couldn’t imagine him ever forcing her to do something she did not wish to do or conceding to his will where her children were concerned. A very different man from her late husband. Tark had been a good man, too, but he’d also been an officer in the cavalry. In their married life there had been things he wanted done, others not done, and generally treated her as one of his recruits who should go where directed and do what she was told. Rarely had Tark consulted with her on anything having to do with them, their lives, or the raising of their children. Jane had had her pin money, her choice of clothing, and some small say in the decorating of their bedchamber at Theale House, but there her choices ended.

The past three years of widowhood had proven a true awakening of her independent spirit. She’d relished making all the decisions Tark would normally have made, proud that her pronouncements were now obeyed instantly and without question. And she’d discovered a true gift for organization and business. She had a solicitor, of course, to keep her finances running smoothly, but her own decisions about some of the investments had reaped a great financial boon. Her judgment was now the one others paid attention to.

Another such judgment had been housing the children at Cranston Park. She could have easily brought them here when Kinellan had offered, but she had deemed it best for all concerned to lodge them in the house in Lincolnshire. Not because she wished to be apart from them, but because of Tark’s decree, that was the only way she knew to rear children. Much as she regretted to admit it, she didn’t know how to tend her children save from a distance. What she wouldn’t give to have had the opportunity to raise them, to love them like Charlotte and Georgie and all her friends were doing right now. She’d been forbidden that luxury when they were born and now she simply didn’t know her children at all. Didn’t know if she could love them, as a mother ought to after so much time. So she’d chosen to keep them at a distance still, because it was her choice, and all that she knew how to do.

Now she stood at a crossroads. She could stay here, love Kinellan, marry him and give up her cherished freedom. Or she could leave him and console herself ever after with the fleeting comfort to be found in the arms of other charming men who would never be him. And grow old alone, but independent to the end.

That was the price of freedom.

A sudden scratching on the connecting door caught Jane off guard. She started up off the sofa, grabbing up her blue silk robe and thrusting her arms into the sleeves. The filmy garment covered almost nothing at all, but a former lover had explained that the things one could not see were more tantalizing than those one could. She would tantalize Kinellan to the very end.

Jane set her face into pleasant lines, not the barest hint of the serious thoughts she’d been indulging in. She sped to the door and lifted the latch, swinging the door inward to reveal Kinellan in his blue striped silk banyan, his chestnut hair shining in the light of the candle he carried.

“Good evening again, my love.” The fierce desire in his dark eyes took her aback. He shoved the candle onto a nearby table, wrapped his hands around the back of her head, and sank his mouth onto hers.

No matter how many times he kissed her—hundreds and hundreds of times by now—she never failed to thrill to the touch of his lips, firm, commanding, demanding the kiss as he ravaged her mouth. He pushed her back against the wall, then turned her head ever so slightly, aligning their lips perfectly so they melded together.

Her toes curled in her little blue slippers as her knees went weak. Kinellan had always been greedy about kisses, sometimes peppering her face with tiny fleeting brushes of his lips, sometimes dominating her mouth with an intensity that left her literally breathless, as now. Tonight there seemed a special urgency about him that transferred itself to her. If this was to be their final night together, or the beginning of a life spent with one another, then let their passion shake the mountains down around them.

He thrust his tongue into her oh so willing mouth, plundering here and there as if searching for something. Or was he memorizing every inch so he wouldn’t forget?

No, he’d not forget her. She’d make certain of that.

A sharp push against him caught him off guard. She reversed their positions, slamming his back to the wall. Startled, he withdrew and she seized the advantage, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, her mounting need driving her to frenzy. Lord, but she could not get enough of this man.

Throwing up his hands, he groaned and sagged against the wall, his banyan sliding half off him. “Have your way with me, woman. I surrender myself into your hands. Do with me what you will and I swear I will enjoy it.”

Panting, she stepped back from him, seeing the sculpted muscular form, strong arms, and dark eyes glazed with smoldering desire as if for the first time. Seeing him for the first time. This man wanted her, or had wanted her to be his wife for a long time. No one would ever make her feel this way again, no matter how many lovers she might take. She could look for the rest of her life and not find a man as kind or generous or loving as he. And she had all but thrown his love away with both hands. The revelation devastated her and she hung her head.

“Jane?” Kinellan straightened, peering into her face.

Sobbing, she threw her arms around him, laying her head on his broad chest, the only place she wanted it to be. Tears pricked her eyes. The fast beat of his heart beneath her ear should have given comfort, but did not, for her own heart was tearing asunder. The trickle of tears became a flood.

“Darling.” He slipped his arms around her, cradling her close. “What is wrong?”

“I . . . I don’t want to leave.”

“Sweetheart.” He cupped her chin and turned her face up to his. A thundery frown marred his brow. “Who has asked you to leave? Was it Aunt Prudence? Fiona?”

“N . . . no.” Jane sniffed, trying to blink back the tears and regain her composure.

“Someone else?” His frown grew darker.