“I’m afraid all these emotions that have been impossibly roused between us have… mucked things up. I cannot marry you, George, but I do not wish to lose you.”
He grabbed a shirt from the back of a nearby chair and threw it over his head. He tucked it into the band of his pants, his fingers likely moving close to areas that had been hard against her yesterday. She gulped, closed her eyes.You can do this, Jane. He’s only a man, and one you've known for ages at that.
He pulled out a cravat and wound it round his neck, tying a simple knot, then whipped a waistcoat around and shrugged into it, letting it hang on his shoulders unbuttoned. “It’s actually fortuitous you came to my room. I was but a few minutes away from hunting you down.”
That was enough to make her feel decidedly like prey, a baa-ing sheep helpless before a hungry wolf. She averted her eyes from his form—too broad, too male, too much.
“Do you need your sling?” she asked. The addition would make him seem less dangerous.
He rolled his arm around in its joint. “It’s not perfect, but it’s better. Good enough to leave the blasted sling off.”
“I… I’m glad to hear it. You'll be on your way, then. Soon?”
“That depends on you.” He peered closer to the looking glass and ran his fingers through his messy, sleep-tussled hair. “That will have to do. I'll attempt to shave later.” He scratched his beard-covered cheek. “Itches like the very devil.”
She tried to hide her grin. “Will you be happy to have a new valet?”
“If he is of the right disposition.” He buttoned his waistcoat and shrugged into a jacket.
As he sat to tug on a pair of old, scuffed boots he kept at Whitwood year-round, Jane leaned against the doorframe and watched the bunch of muscle under his sleeve, contracting and lengthening with each tug, the pull of wool trousers over his rounded backside.
She left. Coming here had been a mistake. Watching him roused the very feelings and aches she needed to smother for good. She leaned against the wall and thought of less arousing things—cow patties, mathematics, asparagus, Lord Sharpton’s hair.
“I hope it is not thoughts of me that put that look of disgust on your face, Jane.” George, fully dressed and looking perfectly rakish stood before her, one arm cocked, his fist resting on his hip, and the other held at an angle, thick, dark wool draped over his forearm. She could picture him undressed perfectly now, seemed to have every ridge of muscle memorized.
Hells.
She’d never successfully cleanse her mind of the image of his naked torso. She'd never wondered why the widows were attracted to him. Though, she had wondered why widows when he could have anyone? But now she knew quite well that whenever he decided to wed, the widows would weep for their loss.
Ah, perfect, another means of dousing her attraction. She’d wedge the topic between them like a castle wall.
“Tell me,” she said, “why widows? And don’t lock up like an old creaky gate. I know now why you do not take laudanum. But the widows are very much still a curiosity for me.”
He turned to face her but continued striding down the hall backward. “And why do you care about them, Jane?”
Dangerous question, that. She shrugged, following him. “Curious.”
“As always.” He turned back around and continued his march forward.
“Just so. And you were about to assuage my curiosity.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I get lonely. As any man does. And they are lonely too. It’s nice to be with someone who understands. It’s nice to offer something in return, relief from the constant loneliness.”
Jane wished she would see his face. Was he blushing? Was that red stain spreading down the back of his neck evident on his cheeks as well?
“But I’m not lonely when I’m with you.” His words, unasked for, unhoped for, rang some sort of bell in Jane’s head that reverberated throughout her entire body.
Whatever heat colored his body colored hers as well. “That may be,” she mumbled to her walking feet, “the nicest thing anyone has said to me.”
“And that’s a damned shame.”
Her chest swelled; her gut clenched, two contradictory reactions of fear and joy.
He looked over his shoulder at her. “Hurry up.”
She stopped. “Hurry up? Where are you going?”
He stopped too. “With you into the village to deliver the baskets.”
