Page 29 of Euphoria
Settling into the window seat, I folded my hands on my lap and waited.
My eye kept flickering to the door as I waited for the party to appear, my heart fluttering in anticipation. I’d done well to push away the memory of Mr. Rochester’s kiss the night before, but now sitting here, waiting for his imminent arrival, it was all I could see in my mind’s eye.
The way his hands had grasped my body and traced its lines with a mastery I couldn’t fathom. The taste of his lips and the rasp of his stubble against my soft skin. The passion that had overwhelmed me even before he’d laid a finger on my body. I’d never experienced the like of it before, and I probably never would again.
Activity at the door pulled me away from my indulgent thoughts, and I steeled myself to bear the brunt of the incoming storm.
Fiona, Amy, Louisa, and Lynn were first. All were wearing barely-there dresses, and their male company seemed to appreciate it as they followed them into the room.
Two of the men I knew to be Henry and Frederick, but the others I hadn’t seen before. They must be the current favorites Alice told me about.
Lastly, after all the guests were present save for Mr. Rochester, Blanche and Mary entered, arm in arm and looking thick as thieves in their fine dresses. It was just a dinner at the hotel, but knowing it had been silver service, their dress was appropriate.
The entire room paused to watch their entrance like they were royalty, even the women. Blanche was the Queen Bee, indeed!
They all settled into various groups, some overtaking the billiards table, others the couches, and a group lingered by the open fireplace, then lively discussion and laughter filled the room. I sat back in the window seat and regarded it all. I was lonely but glad for it.
Listening to their words, I didn’t understand a thing they were talking about. They talked of international holidays, people I didn’t know, and all manner of fine things rich people indulged in. Even if I were outgoing, I feared I wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation with any of them.
“Who is that?”
I glanced up at the sound of Blanche’s voice and found her staring at me, her lip curled in distaste. My skin prickled at the unwanted attention, but I did not open my mouth to inform her of my status at Thornfield. She’d seen me that morning, but she obviously hadn’t really opened her eyes.
“That’s one of the managers,” Fiona informed her. “She greeted us this morning.”
“Well, I don’t know what she’s doing here. Do you see her dress?” She laughed and the others followed. “The poor thing. She thinks she’s one of us!”
Upon this, they all turned around in fits of laughter and promptly ignored me, but the damage had been done. I’d been expecting it, but sitting there and taking their disgust was another thing entirely. The hurt piled upon the rejection on my heart, smothering the last of my meager confidence. I should’ve ignored Mr. Rochester’s command and remained in my room, no matter the consequence.
I was beginning to wonder if he was going to appear at all—so he could bear witness to my humiliation—when the dining room door opened, and he emerged. My gaze was instantly drawn to him, and the sight of him sent odd feelings ricocheting through my body—arousal, awareness, and longing. The sensations were so keen that I began to flush. Fortunately, I’d already been forgotten so I could easily hide it.
He crossed the room, his eye never wandering, and joined the Ingram sisters. I’m sure Queen Bee greeted him warmly, but all I could see was Mr. Rochester. His back was to me, but it didn’t matter in the slightest. He was dressed like the others—his strong shoulders clad in a light gray suit with the collar of his white shirt peeking out at the top. With his fitted slacks and shiny black dress shoes, he looked the part of a wealthy businessman except for the stubble he refused to shave from his jaw.
I fancied it was a slight rebellion against all the pomp and ceremony his family name held him to, and I smiled to myself.
I hadn’t intended to fall for him, as I was want to keep reminding myself as if it were a mantra, and I had done whatever was in my power to squash the poisonous thoughts, but as I laid eyes on his body, the spark was renewed hotter than before. What a terrible merry-go-round to be trapped upon.
The night wore on, and I remained unnoticed. Mr. Rochester’s attention didn’t turn to me. Not once did he cast his gaze around the room to look for me, nor did he utter my name. I’d had a secret hope he wanted to see me again, but it was as I’d come to expect. He must want to prove the point I didn’t belong and that his body and his heart were off limits to a woman like me. That was closed for business!
I needed to smother my hopes and remember that he didn’t care much for me. I was a curiosity, nothing more. I’d been tasted and found wanting, so now I needed to take my leave of him.
All eyes were focused on Blanche in the far corner as she regaled the guests with an outrageous story of her recent holiday in the Mediterranean where she was certain she was going to be swept off her feet by the Prince of Monaco in her own Cinderella story—which was laughable at best—so I had my chance. No one was paying attention and would not see the movement.
I took a deep breath, slipped from my sheltered corner, and escaped via the side door, which was fortunately near.
The sound of the guests enjoying their outrageous gossiping session followed me out into the empty gallery, the dullclackof the balls as they collided on the billiards table echoing through the stillness. No amount of alcohol would be enough to dampen the pain at having to endure their company for one moment longer. Fortunately, I wasn’t a drunk, nor was I besotted enough with the master to sit through another mean-spirited barb. The whole evening was pure torture.
I was being harsh in my judgment, and maybe I was just as bad as they were, but it was human nature to return that which was given. I’d seen enough.
“Jane.”
I stilled, the gallery seeming to shrink as I turned and beheld the man who had discarded me so wantonly. It had to be true. He was torturing me!
“Why did you leave?” Mr. Rochester asked, his eyes darkening as he regarded me.
He cannot be serious!
“I’m tired,” I replied cordially.
