Page 110 of The Favourite

“No, you would be more likely to admire his brother,” he said waspishly. “The honorable Sir James.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “You are jealous, aren’t you?” she breathed in astonishment.

“Yes, I am,” he said curtly. “And let me tell you, wife, it is a singularly unpleasant experience. It makes me feel quite out of sorts and like I want to be revenged on you.”

Jane pondered this a moment, her heart sinking. “You mean, by flirting with another lady?” she asked carefully, avoiding his eye.

He reached out and touched her cheek, a strange expression on his face. “No,” he said at last. “I mean by dragging you back into that alcove.” He darted his eyes in that direction. “And reducing you once more to a pretty little wanton.”

Jane shivered slightly. “Can you not wait until we return to our rooms?” she suggested, heat creeping into her face.

“Not really, but I suppose I will have to.”

Hearing the murmur of voices, Jane slowly became aware of the fact that heads were turning in their direction. She swallowed. “My lord ...?” she faltered.

“I know,” he sighed, then muttered something Jane did not quite catch. Afterward, she thought it had been something like, “Fuck, I think they will be able to tell, after all,” but she could not be sure.

The morning passed in a whirl of constant social encounters. Everyone seemed curious to look them over in the light of their recent marriage. Jane received several compliments on her appearance and several curious ladies asked after the beading at her sleeves and bodice.

“Is it vines, twining about one another?” Constance Northcott had asked doubtfully.

“Silly, it is serpents,” Emma Thackeray informed her. Emma was pleased to be in the positon to correct someone else for once.

“I think vines would be nicer,” Constance had retorted. “I believe I shall have my next bodice beaded all over with vines.”

“I have long been considering something similar myself,” Emma said airily. “I remarked as much, only last week.”

Constance opened her mouth and then closed it again. “Oh, so have I,” she said hurriedly. “For simply ages.”

Jane resisted the overwhelming urge to look about and see where Alisander had got to. At several points during the morning, he had slipped away from her side and reappeared just as seamlessly without remark. If anyone was asked later, they would doubtless describe him as having been at her side the whole time.

It was quite a feat, considering his ostentatious appearance. He seemed, to Jane, to weave in and out of the crowds with such little apparent effort. Jane kept to the outer chamber, but she would not have been surprised to hear he had slipped between all three of the Queen’s rooms at will. Had she never noticed before how skillfully he navigated the palace?

“My dear,” he murmured, and Jane gave a start, for she had not noticed he had returned. “Shall we repair to the banqueting chamber for some refreshment?”

She had acquiesced readily enough, but even there, she found her husband frequently vanished from his spot on the bench beside her. He would reappear periodically with another goblet of wine for her, or perhaps a freshly replenished dish, but Jane very much doubted that had been his quest when he originally disappeared.

She would have to keep an eye on him, she decided, and she really did try as the week progressed. The trouble was, he was clearly very practiced at it. Oftentimes, he would take off altogether for some official meeting or other. On at least one of those occasions, he had told her he was meeting with a certain ambassador that she had later seen elsewhere.

He did not even blush when she informed him as much that same evening as they readied themselves for a private supper with Lord and Lady Marchmont. “At the Queen’s reception, you say?” he mused, looking up from strapping on his belt. “I wondered where he got to. Such a rude fellow. Never sent so much as a word of apology and kept me waiting a good two hours. No manners whatsoever.”

Jane had narrowed her eyes at him but held her tongue for Marta was dressing her hair.

“Marta,” he said, unfastening his belt. “Could you return in an hour’s time?”

Marta lowered her comb and Jane half turned in her seat. “Why need Marta return in an hour?” she asked in growing bewilderment. “As you see, I am already dressed for dinner and either Patience or Osanna may have need of her by then.”

“Because I mean to undress you,” he replied forthrightly. “And to mess up your hair.” He flipped a coin at the girl, who smartly caught it and hurried toward the door.

“I’ll be back in an hour, milady,” Marta assured her over her shoulder.

Jane’s face was bright red by this point. “Must you be so wretchedly provoking all the time?” she fumed as soon as the door closed behind her. “I know full well that you do not have the slightest intention—” He dropped down onto the low seat beside her, pulling her into his arms.

“Jane, my darling, you do not have the first clue,” he said and then sealed his lips to hers. It seemed a strange thing to Jane, but if she did not know better, she might even have thought he enjoyed the idea of her stalking his every step. One minute she would think she was being entirely discreet over it, and the next she had a horrible feeling he was fully aware of her scrutiny.

In the aftermath of their passion, she let her mind wander over the conclusions she had drawn thus far. If it was Lord Bardulf who traversed the royal chambers with such consummate skill, then it was surely Alisander de Balon who had just ravished her within an inch of her life.

His one eye flickered open. “Stop huffing wife and come closer. I want to take a nap.”