His and Hers Page 15

  Too well. She gave him a rueful smile. "You know, you really need to work harder at being a villain. So far, you're not that good at it."

  "I intend to." He gave her a half smile of his own. Then he lowered his voice and dipped his chin low enough to put him at eye level with her. "Though I venture to say you would be a resounding failure as a villain, despite your willingness to attempt it."

  It wasn't fair, the fact that his touch sent shivers of anticipation running all through her, that with just a look aimed in her direction, he could send every thought she had scurrying in a dizzying race to leave her head.

  She wished she had an effect like that on him.

  He straightened. "I will accompany you to the house. You must slip through the back entrance and into your chambers undetected."

  "Why don't we stay here for awhile?"

  A girl could ask.

  "Miss Ellingson, you will come with me." Apparently not. His voice was ominous, almost villainous, if she didn't know better.

  She stood, with all the grace she could muster, considering she had to be dragging twenty pounds of dead weight around with all the fabric in her skirts. "I believe I'm ready to go in now."

  He crooked his arm and offered it to her. She had just laid a hand on it, enjoying the feel of his arm beneath the jacket, when he stiffened.

  "What is it?"

  "Pay heed. There is not much time."

  Jane stifled a groan. "She's writing again?"

  He whirled to face her. "You must attempt to persuade James—"

  His last words were lost in a rush of colors and light that stilled as quickly as it came.

  Jane's eyes opened and she found herself seated at the pianoforte again, fingers hovering above the keys. Didn't Mary Bellingham know anything else to do with her? She began to play, all the time sighing so hard mentally, her inner voice clapped a hand to its forehead in despair.

  Above her, James stood smiling. "I find your playing soothing, Jane," he said, loud enough to be heard over the music. Didn't take that much. She wasn't exactly launching into a rousing rendition of anything. And soothing. Okay. That explained why he didn't look close to grabbing and ravishing her here in the drawing room where they were… alone, she noticed, looking around.

  Attempt to persuade James, Curran had said. That would take some doing. She concentrated hard, focused on stilling her hands. No time like the present. It took a minute, but at last, her fingers extended straight out and came to a rest on the keys.

  James looked at her. "Another song?"

  This time, it took everything she had to suppress the words forming on her tongue and instead say, "No." She kept her gaze on James.

  He waited, a baffled expression making its way across his face.

  Again, she focused her energies. "Perhaps we might… ride" Geez, the effort on that one had her nearly out of breath.

  His mouth opened, but it took a minute for his reply. "I shall call for the carriage."

  She steeled herself for another fight. Mary didn't disappoint. "No," Jane finally managed.

  "No?"

  "I… prefer… a horse." This time, she wanted to slap the table with her hands to regain her normal breathing, though nothing seemed to show on the outside.

  "But, Jane. Surely…" His voice trailed off. Apparently he didn't know what he surely meant.

  She waited. For him. For Mary, for somebody to decide what to say.

  A pause and he again said, "I shall call for the carriage," as if he hadn't said it just a minute ago.

  She concentrated, willing her tongue into… "No. I would prefer"—those f's were hard—"to ride a horse."

  No "But Jane, surely" this time. Instead, he said, "Very well. I shall have the horses brought around."

  Since she couldn't exactly celebrate, pumping her fist in the air, Jane settled for the polite smile Mary allowed her. Just wait until she got James alone, riding their horses through a secluded romantic field. Then she'd persuade him to—

  Do what, exactly?

  Curran returned to the sanctuary of the stables, steps hammering along the path, knowing that a scene was at that very moment being played out between Jane and James. A scene he had no part of. Though he could have lingered in the background, watching from a position safely out of sight, he refused to give in to such a weak inclination. He would have to hope Jane was doing her best to help the author with her story, just as they had discussed.

  She should not have kissed him. More important, he should not have kissed her. If he were merely drawn to her soft curves, to her pink mouth, it would present problem enough. But he found himself both enchanted and infuriated by the manner in which she spoke her mind and seemed to somehow know his, asking questions about matters he had hidden deep inside.

  But then, perhaps the answers to those questions helped to move the story along. It had most certainly lit a fire within him to fully remember his mother and what Ben ton Dempsey had done to her. How he had brought Curran here as a small boy, ordering him to renounce his birth name and become a son of the house.

  Though that was all the further it had gone. He had never truly become a son of the house because of the two who refused to accept him as a rightful brother. And the father who had bowed to the wishes of his wife.

  Curran had kept the name Dempsey and remained in the household, though he had never truly been a part of it He had been educated separately and treated like a distant cousin whose presence could not be helped. Were it not for the times his father had spent, outside the knowledge of his wife and children, schooling Curran in how to sit a horse, handle a gun and other necessary skills, he would have left this place.

  Benton Dempsey considered him a son, of that he was certain. It was James who stood in the way of Curran taking his rightful place. Not only for him, but also for his mother, whose sweet, lilting voice had been brought back to him vividly today. She could no longer fight for herself, but he would be glad of the chance to do it for her.

  He would do all that was required to take this estate from those who had treated her, and him, as though they did not deserve it. All that was required.

  And as for Jane Ellingson… While he could no longer convince himself that Jane was little more than a passing fancy, he could steel himself to resist the temptation she offered. Were his brother to learn of the embrace in the darkness, he would never allow the romance to go forward, despite the consequences. Curran knew his younger brother, and his misplaced pride, well enough to be certain of it.

  Which meant the fates of many characters depended on Curran's resolve.

  He would keep it, at all costs.

  The horse brought around for Jane had a wild look in its eye, she thought nervously as James helped her up and into the sidesaddle. But then, since she knew nothing about horses, maybe they all had wild looks. Her character didn't seem to have any problem with it, gliding into the saddle with ease, and sitting, back straight and proper, while James mounted his horse.

  The deep ocean blue of her skirt spread across the reddish brown horse in the sunlight, leaving her looking much more confident and assured than she felt. The sidesaddle felt precarious, at best As though she could easily slide off and right onto the ground in a heap of humiliation. But Mary was writing and Mary didn't write a lack of coordination. Thank God.

  As soon as James picked up his reins and began to ride away, she did the same, following him. They set off down a long path leading away from the house. Jane wanted to ask where they were going but couldn't sap her energy by fighting with the author so early. Better to save it up for the important stuff.

  Reins held oh-so-daintily in her hands, she rode, side by side with James, but a few paces back. A sign of deference? "It is a beautiful day," she said in a voice so sugary sweet, it could have caused cavities all by itself.

  James gave a nondescript reply, albeit with a brilliant smile, that Jane didn't hear because she was thinking too hard about her next move. They could ride all day, saying love
ly little polite things to each other, and never accomplish anything worthwhile. What would Mary have James do, ask for her hand in marriage like he was asking her to pass the bread at dinner?

  So romantic. She'd accept while spreading butter on the roll, they would smile again and somehow the whole courtship would fall apart because neither one of them wanted to be with the other. She could see herself now, being stood up at the altar, maybe not actually saying bad words, but thinking them so hard, they ended up written on her face. The vicar frowning at the nonpious display. Fury emanating from her pudgy little aunt (What was that woman's stake in all this, anyway?). And Mary Bellingham, throwing up her hands and chucking the whole manuscript into the fire, where they would all be doomed to… She gulped, choking off the sentence she had apparently been in the middle of speaking.

  "Jane?"

  "Forgive me, sir. I am afraid I lost my thought."

  He laughed. "Oh, Jane."

  If he said she was a funny little thing again, she was going to use some of the energy she was saving by riding sidesaddle to smack him right across the—

  "You are a delightful creature," he said.

  Okay. She'd take delightful. For now.

  They were riding past a small pond of water on their right, with wildflowers and grasses along one side. No one was about.

  A perfect place to do what she had to, what she'd agreed to do. "Please," she managed with some effort. "May we stop?"

  James nodded. "Why, of course, Jane. As you wish."

  They turned the horses off the path and toward the pond, stopping when they were near the water's edge. Jane waited for James to help her down, which he did with all the assuredness and ease of a gentleman. He had it all, some people would think. Looks, money, social standing. And then other people, like Jane, might think he had almost nothing.

  Nothing that really mattered, anyway.

  But Curran had made it clear she had to try. So had Ben ton Dempsey. If for no other reason than sheer survival. It wasn't just her life. It was everyone else's.

  Besides, if this all worked out, maybe she could say good-bye to James as soon as Mary wrote "The End" and, well, pick things up with… someone else.

  When her feet hit the ground she held on to James's arms with her gloved hands and didn't let go. "My Jane," he said, a teasing look in his eyes. "You are my Jane, are you not?"

  "If you wish me to be, sir," she said. A little too primly, Jane thought.

  "Is it not true we thoroughly enjoy each other's company?"

  She heard herself respond, "I find you a fascinating companion, sir." At least she smiled this time.

  James smiled back, but there was no adoration to be found in his gaze. Zip. Zilch. Nada. No wonder. She'd called him a fascinating companion. Not exactly the kind of praise to go straight to a man's heart, causing him to pledge his undying love.

  This called for drastic action. Book Jane might not be able to release her inner vixen, but Real Jane could. At least, she thought she could. She hadn't really ever tried it, but—Oh, forget it. Now wasn't the time to second-guess herself. She'd already done enough of that for two lifetimes.

  Hold on. There seemed to be a little problem with her eyes. Mary was working hard on closing them. To hell with that. Jane needed to see James to seduce him. If she concentrated hard on forcing them open, she'd have…half-lidded. Ta-dah. Seductive. Or, at least something close to it. Then she raised her hand, apparently catching Mary by surprise, and managed to trail one finger down his arm. "What… have… you…" Not easy here. "Thoroughly… enjoyed, James?"

  The answering narrowing of his eyes, paired with a sly smile, implied he'd be willing to play along. "You play the pianoforte well," he began, drawing out the words.

  She let her finger trip back up his arm before it began another descent down. Slowly.

  He watched. "And you are…"

  Jane used her other hand to sweep a tendril of hair from her face, arching her back slightly. "Yes?" The effort it took to get the one word out almost took her breath.

  "… quite a handsome woman."

  Handsome. Took her a second to translate that one. Then… yes! She'd managed to get him to compliment her. Score one for the heroine. She aimed her best come-hither gaze at him, not sure how well Mary was letting it come through. Seemed to be some sort of a contortionist struggle going on with her face muscles. Keep it steady… There. Whew. That one took some work. Much more of this and she'd collapse on the ground in a heap of exhausted heroine. And not for the right reasons.

  James looked a little puzzled, but after a few seconds his expression turned to one of cautious interest.

  All right, then. She'd take one ladies' man, well done, with a side of thighs. The thought nearly caused her to laugh out loud, a dangerous idea since Mary seemed to be loosening the reins. "Thank you," she managed to say and then threw in a wink that must have caught the author unawares because it went off without a hitch.

  "Shall we stroll?" James asked, offering his arm and a smile.

  "Oh, yes. Please." This wasn't bad at all, knowing she would walk without stumbling and falling into the pond or accidentally pushing James in. Marrying him, she could be a woman of leisure, money, social standing. With coordination by the buckets. And maybe even a tide of some kind thrown in somewhere.

  She glanced at James as they walked and gave him a warm smile. Her head held high, all her wishes coming true. A chance to start over, where no one knew her. No one would ever know about the proposal to Byron, the wine on the wedding dress, the press release about the senator. Everything she'd hoped for, coming true. Right here, right now.

  How in the world could everything so right feel so incredibly wrong?

  "Jane," said James, coming to a stop. He turned and took both of her hands, holding them up and tightly in his grip. "I have something important to ask you."

  This was it. The big moment. Time for lightning bolts, birds singing, a marching band striking up. Something. At least her heartbeat should run a mile or two over the speed limit.

  Nothing. She sucked in a deep breath. He hadn't asked her yet. That's all it was. He had to ask the big question and then she'd go into crazy-in-love—or at least willing-to-like—mode.

  "Jane."

  "Yes."

  A sound like a roar came from the right. After a second or two of confusion, Jane recognized it as galloping hooves. Bearing down on them. Fast. She turned toward it, mouth open, to see a horse, streaking the air with black, and nearly upon them.

  A shout from James pierced the sky and he grabbed her around the waist, throwing them both to one side and on the ground, out of danger. Terror coursed through her veins as the horse pounded past them in a rush of air. She was smashed into the front of James, the fabric of his jacket covering her face and her legs somehow wrapped around his. She lay still, afraid to move. After what seemed like forever, the sound of the hooves became fainter. From pounding to mere thudding. Somewhere other than in front of her.

  She lifted her face a few inches. "I—I—" she sputtered. James began to rise, keeping his arm around her. Once he'd made it to a sitting position, he rose and then helped her up with a great show of chivalrous care. As she brushed at her rumpled skirt, he pointed in the direction the animal had gone. "That beast," he announced, "is my father's pride and joy."

  Jane's hand flew to her mouth. "And he has escaped." Turns out she was shocked by this.

  James's mouth pressed into a tight line of anger. "I know who has done this. Even as our father lies on his deathbed. It is the ultimate insult."

  "Who, James?"

  "None other than Curran Dempsey." Now his angry gaze turned in the direction of the house. "It is he who has done this. Unforgivable."

  "What shall you do?" Jane was feeling a little less than horrified about this whole thing, truth be told, but she went along with what Mary was writing. At the moment, she had other concerns: one leg and an elbow were beginning to ache. A person didn't get thrown to the ground
every day. Bound to be some consequences.

  He grasped her shoulders and looked intently into her eyes. "First, Jane, my dear, are you injured?"

  "Please do not trouble yourself with me at such a time." What? He'd been about to ask her to marry him. Who else should he be troubling himself with?

  He nodded, expression grave. "It is I who must rescue Lord Thunder. For the sake of my father."

  Lord Thunder? Really? And why did she feel as though there should be superhero music building to a crescendo? She forced her eyes to his shoulders, suspicious that he'd suddenly grown a cape. "And your brother?" she heard herself squeak.

  "I shall never again allow him to be called such. He has gone too far this time. Even my father will at last see it to be true."

  Somebody should go after that horse. As fast as the animal had been traveling, it should be somewhere in the next county by now. And Jane didn't see any highspeed chase vehicles nearby.

  "You are to return to the house at once, while I attend to this." He began walking rapidly toward their horses. "Come, Jane."

  Come, Jane? The only time she was coming was when… Well, never mind that. It certainly wasn't going to be when James lifted his pinky finger and beckoned. She fought to keep her feet rooted in place. But Mary fought harder and Jane's feet began to move.

  And then, a long pause. Jane's shoulders sagged in relief. Mary had quit writing.

  One very serious conversation was going to happen. Right about… now.

  Chapter 14

  "I'd like to talk to you," Jane tried telling James as he bundled her up and onto her horse. "I'd like to talk—" The last words fell into the air because he'd already moved away from her and onto his own horse. "Hey!"

  He nudged his horse into action and motioned impatiently for her to follow.

  "But Mary isn't writing now!" she tried to protest.

  "We must hurry," was the reply he tossed over his shoulder.

  She barely caught it, he was moving so fast.

  Good thing her horse seemed to know what to do because she'd quit that sidesaddle thing as soon as James had turned around, and thrown her leg over just to be sure she remained astride. It hurt. There was that thing in the way and nothing was the same on one side as it was on the other. Not that it mattered as much as the condition her back end was going to be in as it thumped against the saddle.