The Dark Seduction of Miss Jane Page 5
Clarice offered a quiet smile. “Lovers? She and I are quite close in many ways. She’s a dear friend, a mentor, a confidant. We enjoy each other’s company. But I find no shame in having a desire for my need for variety. Even now, do you deny that you are aroused even a little by your curiosity?”
Jane licked her parched lips. She wished for a glass of water to cool her throat. Sweat trickled down her spine. She didn’t want Clarice to be right, but she was aroused. What did that mean?
“We are but creatures of sensation—male or female.” Clarice tipped her head, holding Jane’s gaze. “We all have a need to be touched, to feel desire. There is nothing wrong with those emotions.” Clarice’s gentle fingers trailed the curve of Jane’s throat, skimming lightly across her exposed flesh.
“If, my dear, your curiosity makes you ready to study further”—her blue-violet eyes lifted to Jane—“I would be more than happy to be your tutor.”
Aware of the tightening of her breasts, Jane swallowed uncomfortably, fighting the odd tingling coursing through her body. “Perhaps its best you stop,” she spoke in a strangled whisper.
“Seduction. That is the key to pleasure.” Clarice reached out and rested her hands on Jane’s hips, her breasts pressing against Jane’s back. “And pleasure is what we are designed for, my dear.”
“Clarice?”
A quiet but stern voice startled Jane. Clarice smiled and stepped to her side, sharing her reflection in the mirror.
“There you are, my dear. See how much more confident you look? Now hurry along, you’ve guests waiting.” Clarice walked to the door, patted Jonesy’s cheek, and offered her a charming smile. “Has Ran—the inspector arrived?” she asked.
Jane grabbed the closest blouse she had and, with fumbling fingers, quickly fastened the buttons, sneaking quick glances at the two still standing in the doorway. It was a strange predicament to be in, for certain.
“He has,” Jonesy answered her steady gaze on Jane. Her coal black hair, worn straight just below her ears, accentuated her dark eyes. She was dressed as usual in her men’s trousers, tailored to fit, a simple man’s dress shirt, and a vest. It was a bold stance to take with so many guests, but Jonesy was nothing if not defiant in her views. “Is that the corset I gave you?” she asked, staring at Jane.
“Darling,” Clarice cajoled. “The poor thing needed a boost of confidence, that’s all. I can’t wear more than one at a time anyway, can I?”
Clarice glanced at Jane with a demure smile.
A strained moment passed before Jonesy turned to Clarice and brushed her knuckles down her cheek. “Come along, dear. The guests are waiting.” Her gaze rolled to Jane. “Miss Goodwin?”
Jonesy stepped aside and allowed Clarice to walk out ahead of her. With a predatory glance at Jane, she followed Clarice downstairs.
Chapter Five
An hour later, Jane felt as though she’d been verbally dissected for her comments on the differences between American and British lifestyles. Grabbing a cup of punch, she stole a glance over the crowd and found the inspector at the back of the room. The look on his face feigned marginal interest, until his eyes met hers. Heat slammed into her chest, and she felt her cheeks burn as though she’d been caught staring. She turned her attention to Isabella preparing to introduce the speaker for the afternoon, but she was aware that the inspector was watching her. Lifting her chin, fortifying her resolve not to let him intimidate her, she made a mental note to speak with him before he left.
The guest speaker—Russian-born Vladimir Kerchov—was a charming man. “I much prefer,” he said, his accent thick, “to be called an illusionist, not a magician.” He knew the command he held in the room and he used his dignified and soft-spoken manner to his advantage.
Jane considered his brief display one of “parlor tricks” rather than intrigue or mystery, but he kept his audience captivated for the next thirty minutes—all, that is, except for Jane. She spoke a few goodbyes to departing guests, glad to herd them toward Lady Hampton and Vladimir as they stood at the door, passing out tickets to his upcoming show at the Royal Pavilion. She inched her way toward the inspector, who was now speaking to Clarice and Jonesy. They seemed an odd trio, though Isabella had indicated the three were old acquaintances.
“Miss Goodwin?” A heavy Russian accent stopped her. She turned to find The Amazing Vladimir. He bowed deeply. “I wonder if I might trouble you for a moment of your time?”
An odd shiver skittered over her shoulders as she faced him. He reminded her of a cunning salesman. His black, piercing eyes held her in place. He smoothed his well-trimmed moustache with his finger and offered her a cocky grin.
A handsome con artist, Jane thought, and returned his smile. “A most interesting lecture, Mr. Kerchov.” It was a boldface lie and Jane had the feeling he knew it. His lips stretched into a wide smile, his glittering slow gaze assessing her like prime stock. Jane felt unease in his presence, as though he saw all of her secrets, her insecurities.
“There is no need to flatter me with false words, Miss Goodwin. I sense you do not believe in what I can do, and in fact find me a bit of a…how would you put it—ah, a farce? Is this not true?”
His ill grasp of English slowed his speech, adding an ominous tone to his similar looks. She forced aside his intimidation tactics, guarding herself with what weaponry she possessed—her quick tongue. “A farce? Indeed, far from it, Mr. Kerchov.”
“Vladimir, please, my dear girl.”
“We are not acquainted well enough, sir, that I am comfortable being on such an informal basis.”
His smiled reminded her of a cunning fox. “A problem I hope to remedy while I’m in town.”
Her eyes locked into his. “I fear I am too practical to believe in hocus pocus. But please, don’t take it personally. It’s the cynic in me.” She glanced around, looking for a way to end the conversation without being rude.
He stroked his silvery beard and studied her with a raised brow. “On the contrary, I find honesty is good.” He chuckled low. “But the fact that you do not believe does not make it less real.”
“Quite true, I’m certain,” she responded with half-interest. A guest with a wide-brimmed hat skirted behind Jane, causing her to step forward. She looked up and realized she was toe-to-toe with the ostentatious man. He had an aura about him, one that captivated, drew you in. Her feet felt like lead. Unable to move, she met his steady gaze, magnetized by his piercing eyes.
“Quite often we discover things inside of us that we wouldn’t dare believe existed, until presented with the means to…explore them.”
She blinked and shook off the odd feeling that he’d just spoken to her without opening his mouth. Jane took a deep breath, deciding that she no doubt suffered still from the rigors of her long voyage. Shaking off the strange sensation, she chose to change the subject to something menial. “How are you finding your stay in London?” Her focus drifted to Inspector Mansfield in animated conversation with her Writers House peers.
“There is much more in London I hope to see.”
Somewhat irritated, his response interrupted her study of the handsome inspector. Without benefit of his coat, she had a better view of Mansfield’s broad shoulders and long legs. His dark hair curled back over his ears and brushed the top of his collar. Jane’s fingers itched to run her fingers through its fullness, to touch his unshaven jaw.
“Yes….yes,” she stated pulling her focus back to Vladimir. “London is full of interesting sights.”
“True.” His eyes narrowed. “I am only here for a few days. Perhaps I will have an opportunity—”
“It has been a pleasure Mr. Kerchov, but if you’ll excuse me,” she blurted, hoping to ease out of the conversation. As she started to leave, his fingers closed around her arm. Jane halted in her tracks.
He chuckled. “I see that my infatuation with you has not gone unnoticed. There is no need to fear me. I do not make a habit of intruding where I do not sense mutual interest.”
“Oh, yes, my dear. Quite,” he responded. With a smile, he dropped his hand to his side. “You pretend that you do not feel what is inside you, but I can. There is a longing in your eyes, Miss Goodwin. I see a spark of eagerness—a deep desire—to engage with someone in this room.” He looked around and returned his attention to her. “How many other eligible handsome men are left?” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “Do not fear that I am able to see both your passion and your pain. I understand your needs, better, perhaps, than anyone.”
He held her gaze, seeming to read her very soul. “Mr. Kerchov, perhaps your suave attempts to intimidate me with the silly notion that you can read my innermost thoughts has been successful on other women. However, I assure you it will not work on me.”
His grin widened. “My dear Jane, you are not as complex as you like to believe. For example, I see that when it comes to matters of the heart, you have been gravely wounded. Yet while it has left a scar, you remain thirsty. A woman of your passion does not walk through the desert for long.”
She stared blatantly at the man, marveling that no one else seemed aware of this conversation. Frustrated and more than a little confused by how easily he could pinpoint her reservations about men, she swallowed and averted her eyes. “My personal life is none of your concern. I find it rude that you should pry into my private affairs.”
He smiled and deep crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t wish to frighten you, my dear. The man who scorned you, he is the reason for your bitterness?”
Her eyes darted to his. How could he possibly know about Frederick? She took a steadying breath, determined not to allow him to succeed in this cruel little game. “It was an amiable arrangement.” She chanced a quick look at the astute man, unable to block the memory of her discovery of Frederick in the study with his father’s housemaid. The broken glass, the sighs, the animalistic groans…Jane shook her head, refusing to entertain the torrid ghosts in her past.
Vladimir cocked his head, studying her. “Ah, yes, it is clear now why you broke your betrothal. For what it may be worth for you to know, Miss Goodwin, the man was an imbecile to let you go.”
An imbecile? On that point, they could agree. She offered him a feeble smile, recouping her pride. “Agreed, Mr. Kerchov. And from the experience, I have received quite an education.” She glanced away, her gaze slamming headlong into Inspector Mansfield’s dark, inquisitive eyes. Her breath hitched at the intensity in his look.
“There is one thing I wish to leave with you. Do not allow this obstacle, or any other, to stifle the great passion inside you. You keep it hidden deep inside, afraid of it—afraid you don’t deserve an equal passion. You do. In my country, such passion is regarded as a rare jewel to be cared for, protected.”
She looked back at Vladimir, swayed by his insight, if nothing else. “While your words are meant to flatter, sir, I cannot help but feel they have ulterior motives.” Her smile, as well as her delivery, was smooth. A spark of challenge issued in his eyes, replaced quickly with a glint of humor.
“Do not be mistaken, Jane. Flattery is unbecoming to a woman like you. By now, your quick mind has deduced that I am fascinated by you—by your passion—and I intend to get to know you better.”
“Were I the least bit interested in your invitation, Mr. Kerchov, I might concede. But the fact of the matter is that I am not.” Yet his revealing thoughts, true or not, raised other questions inside her. Was she truly hurt by Frederick’s betrayal, or had he simply driven a blow to her pride?
“Many think that wealth or position is the greatest power one can possess. But when a woman realizes and embraces the enormous passion within herself, there is nothing—nothing—that is unattainable. She is able to have any man she desires eating from her hand.”
Jane met his steady gaze. It was true that she was unsure whether she had the courage to discover this romantic side he spoke about—the desires that burned deep inside her. “Vladimir, I do not know what they call a woman in your country who appeases her desires so freely, but in mine”—she leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper—“one who actively embraces her passion with no shame is called a whore.”
Vladimir threw back his head in unbridled laughter, uncaring what ruckus he caused. That had certainly garnered the attention of many, including the dark-eyed inspector.
“My dear”—he sniffed, wiping his eye—“you are a delight.” He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “Please say that you will attend at least one of my performances while I am here.”
Jane gave a polite nod, grateful that the conversations around them had resumed. “I will see what is possible.”
“I must go now and rest before my performance tonight.” He held his finger up as a reminder. “Promise me, Jane, you will attend one performance. I think you will find it most enlightening. You will be my guest, of course. I will send tickets in Lady Hampton’s care.”
“You are too gracious,” she said with a smile.
He bowed quickly and leaned forward to whisper, “Do not deny your passion, Jane. You have much to offer, and even more to gain.”
Jane looked over Vladimir’s shoulder as Inspector Mansfield turned to look at her.
***
Like others in the room, Randolph had been drawn to Vladimir’s raucous laughter. There was no mistaking the young American woman’s delicate flush or her smile as she held private audience with him. Not that he could blame the poor man. The woman was a beauty, with hair as rich as polished mahogany and large, expressive blue eyes. Several times during the presentation, he’d seen the magician’s gaze turn to her, whether she noticed or not.
Admittedly, he’d thought more than once about her since they ran into each other on the street. Her fresh-faced innocence seemed to contradict a resilient inquisitiveness not known to many—in particular, women. His men had trouble at times checking on grisly murder scenes, yet she appeared to want to get closer. Yes, she was an intriguing woman—bright, alert, and an instant fascination to his libido.
For a man driven by his past, the shadowy demons were part of him—like breathing. He wanted to know what secrets drove her. Everyone carried them. If his job had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that much. Those crimson cheeks and soft lips evoked dark, smoky images of the devil she might be in bed. Seeing her now, weaving her way through the crowd, he set aside his rakish thoughts. She held her head high, her gaze fixed on his. There was more than mere confidence in those clear blue orbs—there was challenge, and it was directed toward him.
He stole a glance at Jonesy, who’d turned away to sneak a nip from her personal flask, and wondered what she thought of the American woman. He’d known Jonesy and Clarice for several years. The three had met at McFarland Manor in his younger days, when his passions were unbridled and less refined. They’d discovered a love for good brandy and, once or twice, dabbled in other carnal delights. Though their lives had taken different paths, the bond once created had deepened, garnering a fierce loyalty to one another.
Seeing her approach, Jonesy tucked her private stock away, and quietly stepped in front of him, blocking her access. Miss Goodwin’s cool gaze assessed his would-be protector’s stance, but she did not appear intimidated.
“I wonder if I might steal the good inspector away for a few moments.” Without waiting for a response, she sidestepped his swaggering protector and looked at him. “I won’t take up too much of his time, I promise.”
Jonesy’s straightened her shoulder’s, challenging the woman. Randolph placed his hand on her elbow. The last thing he needed was a brawl in the middle of an afternoon tea.
Clarice covered her mouth, hiding a grin.
He made a quick glance around the room, hoping that Jonesy could contain her liquor. She could be more than mean when under the influence.
“My, my, what a tena
cious little minx you are, Miss Goodwin.” Jonesy’s intense green eyes narrowed on the unsuspecting woman. “Is that an American trait, or one held privy by you?”
Miss Goodwin, undaunted by the gauntlet dropped at her feet, responded without so much as a flinch. “I like to think that tenacity is vital for any good reporter.”
She was either gutsy or unaware of the challenge she’d just issued to this hot-tempered woman. Randolph squeezed his friend’s arm. “As it happens, I have a few moments to spare, Miss Goodwin.” He nodded to his friends. “Always a pleasure, ladies.” He leaned toward Clarice and whispered, “Jonesy might benefit from a spot of tea.”
Clarice gave him a brief nod and motioned for her disgruntled friend to follow her to the buffet table.
Randolph turned his gaze toward the American beauty, her eyes still cool, her mouth bowed down in a delightful frown. “Now, what is it that you wish to speak with me about, Miss Goodwin?”
Without a word, she grabbed his arm and pulled him through the kitchen, checking over her shoulder once, before exiting through the back door and into the garden.
He did fancy a woman who had a mind of her own.
She skirted down the path and settled on a stone bench. Primly folding her hands in her lap, she looked up at him entreatingly. “I hope you don’t mind my forward behavior, inspector, but I have wanted to speak with you for over a week now.”
He made a quick visual sweep of the garden, certain they were quite alone before responding. “I should be flattered to have occupied your thoughts…for this entire week, you say?” He gave her a charming smile, one perfected over time and audience with the queen. She was—it seemed—unimpressed.
“Then you do remember me from the other day, on the street?”
Randolph looked away, feigning disinterest, when in truth she’d been on his mind several times and not just for reasons concerning the case. “I never forget a pretty face.”
She stared at him, unfettered by his futile attempts at flattery.