“Will it make you feel better to do so?”
She stopped before him.
He took her hands with his good one. “Then tell me. You can trust me, Jane.”
She pulled her hands from his and put her thumb back between her teeth, then retook her seat. “I do not like Lord Sharpton.”
“No one does but your stepmother. Did he do something? To you?”
“No. Not me. I saw him kissing Christiana. And she kissed him back.”
ThatGeorge had not seen coming. “Bloody hell.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“Pardon me. I should not have—”
“Curse as you like. My father did today. Do you know, he is quite aware Christiana may not be faithful to him?” Jane’s eyes stuck to him, watching, waiting, but he had nothing to give her. How did one respond to such a piece of gossip?
“I see you have no response,” she said. “Understandable.” She sighed. “Love is terrible, is it not?”
“Pardon me?” He’d not expected that, either.
She nodded vigorously. “It’s true. My mother and father loved each other, and when she died, he wanted to die. He told me that. And the only thing keeping him from digging his own grave is, apparently, Christiana, a woman so much in love, or at least in lust, with another man she’ll bring him into her husband’s home. Love is a terrible thing. Seeing Christiana and Lord Sharpton together, speaking with my father this afternoon, it’s strengthened my resolve to keep as far from love as possible.” Her gaze dropped to her lap. “Tomorrow, we will play a few games.”
“Round two.”
“Yes. Then after, I will make a decision and let the man know.”
Tomorrow. She’d be engaged by tomorrow evening.
Good. His task would be complete.
“Do you have any inkling whom you will you choose?”
She opened her mouth to answer him.
“No. Wait.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do not tell me. In fact, do not choose yet. I observed much this morning you may wish to take into consideration before deciding your future.”
She sighed. “It does not matter which man I choose. Any choice is the same if…” She seemed about to add more, then snapped her mouth closed. “Any choice is the same.”
“No. Do not choose yet. We must talk this through. But my headache has returned. Breakfast tomorrow. We’ll eat and chat. Companionably. The two of us.”
“There’s no need.”
He rose to his feet and rested his good hand on the arm of her chair. He leaned in until his nose almost brushed hers. His gaze dropped to her slightly parted mouth. “There is every need. Tomorrow morning, Jane.” He straightened, afraid what he might do if he lingered longer.
“But—”
He reached out and took her braid as he’d been longing to do all evening. He slipped it through his fingers and stopped himself from kissing the tip. “Tomorrow.”
“Of… of course. Tomorrow.”
He released her braid. “Bright and early, Jane.”
He strode out the door.
“Good night,” he heard her whisper right before her door shut between them.
