She contemplated her upcoming evening with Blaize. He’d left her a note telling her to be ready to leave at seven and that she should wear the new gown he would leave on her bed. Other than that, she had no idea what awaited her—apart from another night of sex. She groaned at the thrill of anticipation that went through her body. She was a fool for him. After two weeks of constant sex, he had to only look at her and she was salivating like a bitch in heat. All her carefully laid plans, all her resolve to make him come back to Minshom Abbey with her, ruined because of her inconvenient lust for his body. Part of her knew she should be celebrating his return to her bed, but in truth, she was ashamed of herself. She’d used her knowledge of the pain inflicted on him as a youth to goad him into action, into fucking her when he didn’t really want to. Was there anything more humiliating for a woman to realize than that? The carriage drew to a halt outside the house and Jane stepped down, nodded to the footman and ran into the hall shielded by the umbrella he carried.
