Page 104 of A Dare too Far


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She pulled her skirts down and straightened her bodice. She studied him, then kissed his cheek. “You are quite beautiful in a state of unfulfilled desire.”

His body thrummed painfully with unfulfilled desire, and it would not remain unfulfilled long if she did not remove herself from his sight.

“Go.” His voice sounded like carriage wheels on gravel.

She knelt near him, her hands bracketing his thighs, her fingers playing melodies on his muscles. “I understand your fears. About Neville. I truly do. I visited Dr. Abbott this morning.”

He caught her hands and pulled her back onto the seat. “You did what?” He tried not to yell.

She flinched.

He must have failed.

She pulled her hands from his grasp, wringing them as if he’d squeezed them too hard. “Dr. Abbott is an interesting man, offered a wealth of information.”

“He is a useful sort of man. Doesn’t gossip. Very discreet.”

“You are angry with me. I only wished to learn more about your uncle’s condition. To see if I can help you.”

Helphim? He needed no help. But damn if he didn’t feel lighter knowing she offered it. He took her hands once more, this time with a lighter touch. “I am not angry. I am… astonished.”

“You do not mind that I am learning about opium?”

“I find I do not.”

“A woman appeared while we were there. And like Neville, she grew violent. I was able to calm her and speak with her after her episode. She seems… at the mercy of the drug. It struck me as quite unfortunate. She, and Neville perhaps, began the habit because it offered a measure of control, a way to escape their sorrows. And now it controls them.

“I do not wish to be at the mercy of my fears anymore.Thatis why I will wait for you. That and because I love you.” She nodded once, a sort of satisfied, practical gesture. She stood and leaned over him, kissing him swiftly on the tip of his nose. Then she slipped out the door and looked up at him from the street. “Good night, George. Expect another letter soon.”

He surged out of his seat and toward the open hack door, toward Jane. He stepped halfway into the street, one boot still heavy on the step. He ran his palm over her cheek and hair, memorizing the sight of her tousled and dreamy.

She kissed his cheek this time, winked, and bounced away from him, entering the Clarke’s townhouse without a single look back.

He returned to his dark coach corner, and the vehicle pulled forward, rocking him from side to side when he already felt like an untethered ship at sea.

She would not give up, would she? If Neville lived twenty more years, she’d still be sending letters. And he’d still be wild with desire for her. And lonely. She’d be brave as ever, determined and daring.

And he’d still be a coward. Stubborn, too. Fatalist.

The coach tightened about him, jostled his head and his arm. He rapped on the roof. “Stop. Stop!”

The coach rolled to a stop, and George jumped down. “I’ll walk from here.”

For once, control did not feel like safety and happiness. Control felt like restriction and fear and loss. It was not control. It was denial.

But what could he do?

The better question was what did hewant?

Easy enough to answer. Jane.

So, then, how to get her?

More difficult when he feared so desperately that a union with him would hurt her.

Not that she seemed so worried about that. She’d marched to Dr. Abbott’s and demanded information, faced a woman with an addiction, all to help George.

He should let her.