Page 137 of The Favourite

“First you need a shave,” Vawdrey said disparagingly, looking him up and down. “And to button up your tunic. I have never seen you looking so slovenly. Such a scrupulous lady is not likely to return your affection, not when you look such a scarecrow. Oh, before I forget”—he reached into his other cuff—“there was another letter.”

“Another?” Alisander regarded him suspiciously but reached for it as soon as he saw Jane’s scrupulously neat script. Just a glimpse of her handwriting and he felt like his heart had leaped out of his chest.

Mayhap on reaching their rooms, she had repented the fact she had not responded to his avowal of love. Ripping it open, he found it short and to the point.

Lord Bardulf,

I write first and uppermost to reaffirm that I will not be journeying to Kinnerton.

I daresay that you will be released presently, at your own convenience. If you cannot bring yourself to return to our apartments, teeming as they are with dribbling babes and a surfeit of servants, perhaps you could find the time to slink back occasionally to swive your wife?

You could sneak back at dead of night, and no one would even know, save I, that you had visited. I assure you that I will make you welcome, with both open arms and legs.

Your Viscountess, Jane

30

Jane still felt a little dizzy with horror whenever she thought of the letter she had written. She tried to thrust it from her mind, but it kept intruding on her thoughts at the oddest of times. Thinking of it at supper, she had gasped and dropped her spoon into her soup, quite drenching her front. Ayleth had clucked disapprovingly but promised to soak her gown directly after supper to remove the stain.

Thinking of it now, Jane clapped hands to her hot cheeks and wondered what on earth had inspired her to such mischief. She would never have had the nerve ordinarily to have written such dreadful sentiments. Indeed, at the time of writing, the only way she could push through was by telling herself that she would never actually send it.

It was purely a writing exercise, she had told herself, that she would afterwards consign to the fire. Thus reassured, she had lowered her pen once more and let it travel over the page in her neat, practiced hand that she hoped would somehow provoke him to action.

Even thinking of it now, a day later, made her cheeks grow warm and her breath quicken. For she had sent it. Knowing full well that in all likelihood a prisoner’s letters would be read first by other eyes. Jane paused in the act of running the comb through her hair. She didn’t really like to dwell on that aspect.

With a bit of luck, it would only have been Lord Vawdrey who cast a flinty eye over it. He was far too taken with his own wife to dwell overlong on Jane’s licentiousness. Moreover, he had been quite kind in his manner with her. Especially when you considered how abrupt and even angry she had been toward him when Alisander had first been taken away.

Fenella, Lady Vawdrey, had been so sweet and understanding and said she quite understood Jane’s feelings when she had cried and made a terrible exhibition of herself. It was Fenella who had explained painstakingly that, if anything, Alisander was most likely the closest thing that Lord Vawdrey had approaching the position of friend outside of his family.

Jane considered this now as she drew on a robe over her shift to go and bid goodnight to the children. In the passageway, she nodded to Davis who was sat on a stool, a hulking great presence standing guard over the main door. This was a new precaution the household had agreed to without her corroboration.

Not that Jane minded, indeed, she was actually rather touched. He nodded back, and Jane noticed he had a fresh black eye. Really, did the man never stop brawling? Jane was glad it was Watkin that had caught Anne’s fancy in the end. He seemed a much more dependable prospect, matrimonially speaking.

She was not surprised, on pushing the door open to Celestia’s room, to find Wat stood behind Anne, his arms wrapped firmly about her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. Jane had a shrewd notion that Anne slipped into Wat’s narrow bedchamber for at least a portion of each night recently. She did not really mind this either, not when Celestia was clearly thriving.

Jane knocked lightly now on the door to make them aware of her presence and Wat sprang away, making for the fireplace, where he started industriously stacking logs. Jane crossed to the crib and looked a moment at the sleeping babies, lightly touching Celestia’s cheek and then bidding Anne a quiet good night as she departed.

Next, she knocked on Robert’s door and opened it to find the old man dozing in his chair by the fire. Ayleth was knelt over a deep bowl, washing Jane’s dress. She raised a finger to her lips and nodded toward Robert. Jane nodded back and mouthed “Good night” before shutting the door softly behind her.

Doing these rounds before bed gave Jane some kind of comfort in the aftermath of the disturbing events of the past week. It seemed to give her an idea of order, which though largely illusory, helped her sleep at night. She closed the door to her own room, removed her robe, laid it carefully over a chair back, and climbed into bed, folding her hands neatly across her stomach.

She was just thinking about blowing out the candle when she heard a swiftly indrawn breath. “How dare you write me that letter, madam,” said a familiar voice, filled with so much wrath that Jane gasped and sat up in the bed.

“Alisander!” she squeaked, her heart racing when she found him stood so unexpectedly at the foot of the bed. “When did you—?”

“You knew exactly what you were doing, did you not?” he said in a voice that shook slightly as he whipped his tunic up and over his head. “Writing such words in your perfectly angelic hand.”

“Yes,” Jane admitted boldly, holding his gaze. She saw the answering gleam in his eyes by candlelight.

“Oh? What?” he challenged her, his hands moving to unlace his crotch. “Tell me, then.”

“Inflaming you,” she admitted, swallowing hard. “Enticing you to my bed.”

He breathed out on a hiss. “Now give me that welcome you promised me,” he said throatily as he moved toward her.

Jane held his gaze as she drew the covers aside and parted her thighs for him. “Oh, you little—” His appreciative words were cut off as he bunched up her gauzy shift, inserting himself between her legs and seizing hold of the back of one knee to spread her wider for his hungry gaze. “Gods, Jane.” His voice was hoarse. “Fair warning, I shall give you no quarter. You brought this entirely on yourself.”

Jane caught her breath in her throat. How could he look so utterly wild for her? she marveled as he practically fell upon her, his mouth hot and devouring. And that was before he shifted down the bed. Her chest was already heaving from his punishing kiss. Jane felt a momentary alarm. What if anyone heard them?