“I see. So, soapmaking, law, or mathematics.”
George inclined his head.
Jane wrinkled her nose and settled a defiant gaze on him. “I’m glad we’ve come to this. Why these particular men, George? Why a soap-maker, barrister, and Cambridge professor? What about them did you think would interest me?”
Excellent question. George scratched the back of his neck with his good hand, then repositioned the large bandage wrapped around his head. It itched like the very devil and looked ridiculous, but it kept the poultice in place.
“I suppose,” he said, “because…” Because they were handsome and had enough money to keep Jane comfortable. Because they had bright, uncomplicated family lives. Because they wanted wives. Titled wives preferably. Because they were willing and George desperate to right his wrong.
He swallowed. “Are they that distasteful to you?”
“No. They are considerate and kind. But a professor, George? Absurd.”
“What’s absurd about it?”
“He’s brilliant and I’m… I’m me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Irritation climbed his chest and clawed up into his throat, turning his voice to gravel.
“You are a brute, making me say it.”
“I have no clue what you’re implying.”
“I’m not intelligent, George! Why would a man like Mr. Dour,ProfessorDour, wish to marry a woman like me? I’d bore him in a single afternoon!”
“Did you bore him today?”
“No, but—”
“Then I was not wrong. Ha! Not intelligent?” His tone rose and sparked another headache. He pressed his fingertips to his temples. “You’ve a brain like a sponge,” he mumbled.
“I can’t stand to read books,” she whispered.
“That hardly signifies.”
“I don’t mind that I’m not a genius.” She peeked up at him from lowered eyelids. “Do you mind?”
“No!” he roared. “Damn,” he mumbled, gritting his teeth and pressing his eyes closed. “My apologies. I should neither yell nor curse in front of you. And you’re not… not—”
“Stupid?”
“You’re not.” And how in hell could she think she was? She had a cunning wit and quick, curious mind, and her heart seemed to understand what her brain did not.
Stupid? He should rip off the head of anyone who had ever made her feel so.
The need to do so poured into, tensing every muscle. He fast lost control. He rarely lost control. But the notion that Jane thought so lowly of herself had sparked a sour reaction in his gut, chest, and brain that had been impossible to fathom, let alone smother.
The light shining from her eyes somehow lessened the pain in his head. “You’re lovely, George. The other men are comfortable, but none so much as you.”
He wanted to groan. Did he want her to find him comfortable? Or was comfort too tepid a word for how he wished she would view him? Damn Edmund.
No. Comfortable was good. A husband should be otherwise. But hadn’t he told her husbands should be comfortable? His head swam, and he could not tell fact from lustful fantasy.
“You’re in pain,” she said. “I should leave.”
“No. We’re not done. You should also marry a man who… warms you.” Damn but he felt the flame-red heat in his cheeks.
Jane stared into the fire. Her eyes took on a dreamy quality. “You speak of kissing.”
