“I'm too wily to fall for your advances.” She laughed.
Not a line of his face hinted at mirth. “Is that what that was? An advance?” His tone seemed the end of all mirth anywhere.
“No. I think it was a joke.” She laughed again, but it sounded dark, swallowed whole by the storm gathering around George.
“Yes. A joke.” But he did not sound so sure.
She stepped away from him, anxious to put space between her body and his. The cold rushed between them, and her purpose rushed back to her.
“Oh!” she cried, “We did not find Edmund’s file on the suitors. I had so hoped we would. That way you would not have to help me. I’d have everything I need to make a decision in a convenient bundle of papers.” Her road forward would be bathed in light not darkness.
She scooped up her candle with a sigh and walked around the side of the desk.
George glided up behind her but did not touch her. Still, his nearness sent shivers all through her. “I’ll meet you at breakfast with the rest of the party. I can observe the men and your interactions with them and offer better insight to help you make a decision.”
An observation. Of her interactions with the suitors. All very correct and wise.
And yet… was that disappointment curdling in her belly?
“A lovely plan,” she managed to say. But still so many unknowns. Why couldn’t this decision be as clear as a blue spring sky? Even George, who she’d always seen so clearly, was a creature of shadows now, unknown, unknowable.
He stepped around her. “Sweet dreams, Jane.” His voice rolled to her through the darkness.
“Good night,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
There had to be something more she could do.
She’d come to find out Edmund’s secrets, but she left knowing less than before—about Edmund, about George, about herself. Why did her brother’s friend, a man she’d known all her life, leave her feeling breathless?
She’d get a good night’s sleep, become better acquainted with her suitors, and the inconvenient reactions her body had to George would go away on their own. They were too thrilling, pulsing through to her very fingers and feet, which now itched to do somethingdaring. More daring than a midnight inspection of her brother’s study. Something as daring as following George out of the room, down the hall and… what? A series of images flitted through her mind—skin, lips, heated breath, pale fingers tangled in dark hair. His or hers? Did it matter? The itchy thrill became a pulsing desire between her legs.
Dangerous. Dangerous and daring, and she would have nothing to do with it.
She’d ask Edmund for the information again tomorrow. If it existed, she’d have it. Surely Edmund would understand the importance of using every detail she could to make such a decision.
But what if he didn’t give it to her? What if he winked and sauntered off like he had earlier? What if—hells—it didn’t even exist, and this was all some silly prank Edmund had concocted?
Well in that case, she’d have to find out the information on her own. And she would not play the courtship game anymore. Why should she or any of them pretend the marriage would be more than a practical business arrangement? Tomorrow, she’d leave shadows and fluttering hearts behind in the dark. She’d lay the entire enterprise before her suitors and ask them to help her make the most practical and safe decision for them all.
Chapter 10
Jane sipped her tea and studied the occupants of the dining table. George sat in the shadowed end of the room next to Edmund, as far away from the chatter as possible, his head unbandaged but his arm still in a sling. He pushed food around his plate with a fork and only ate from the hunk of bread she’d surreptitiously delivered to him when it had become clear he’d eaten nothing more savory. When Lord Sharpton guffawed too loud, he flinched. When Christiana’s chatter became too high-pitched, he closed his eyes.
Jane flinched with him. He should not be here. He was better off convalescing upstairs. Then he could heal. Then she would not have to sit so very near him and tell her body to behave, command her eyes not to seek out his muscular form, and plead with her breathing to steady, her heart to stop thumping.
She wanted the almost-impossible-to-resist dare of him gone.
Besides, she no longer needed his help. Her new plan meant she would not have to resort to outside sources to gather the information she needed to make a decision. She would get it from the suitors herself, with no artifice in the way.
Comfort, shared interests, and kisses—the things George had said make a good marriage. She would find out which man offered these things with no further playacting.
Christiana stood with a yawn, stretching her arms above her head and jutting out her chest. “La, you’re a boring bunch. Come along, Sharpy.”
Perfect. Jane couldn’t say what she needed to with her stepmother and Lord Sharpton present. She watched them leave from the corner of her eye, then waited for several breaths after the door closed behind them.
Finally, she cleared her throat. “Pardon me. I’d like to say something.”
The breakfast clatter rolled to a stop as all eyes turned toward her, all cups froze in midair, and most heads tilted to the side.
