“Your heart. Your mind. Your soul. And I take offense at the notion you have neither wit nor beauty.”
“I am forgettable.”
“I’ve not forgotten you.”
“You will.”
“How do I convince you I will not?”
“You can’t.” Jane turned her back to him, trying to make sense of everything she’d just revealed. Her words felt as revelatory to herself as they likely were to him. She’d sought marriage during her season because she must or face a lonely life. Yet another fear to place at love’s doorstep. She was unlovable. And she did not want to yearn for something she could not have, to be like her father and even Lord Sharpton, loving without return. Even Lillian with her unrequited love for Lord Devon taught Jane the wisdom of giving your heart to someone else. The lesson? Don’t.
George paced the length of the room and back. “There must be a way to convince you. Do not worry. I’ll discover it.” He stopped before her and attempted a smile. “Though I must say I wish I did not have to discover it. I wish you trusted me. Come to London with me. Tomorrow.”
“London?”
“Yes. I want you to spend Christmas with me. And my family.”
She laughed. “I cannot!”
“And why? Would you rather stay here where your father makes you sad and Christiana miserable? Surrounded by suitors, half of whom you want nothing to do with and the other half you can’t bring yourself to care for.”
That’s why they were preferable to George. She didn’t care for them as she did for him. “It’s tantamount to a proclamation. We might as well announce our betrothal in the newspapers.”
“That does not bother me, but if it does you, you could leave with Miss Clarke. Concoct a reason she must go and you must go with her. You leave tomorrow, and I’ll leave today. Our returns to the city will appear to have nothing to do with one another.”
“And what of Newburton?”
“I like the fellow well enough, or I did until the last few days, but to hell with Newburton! Come to London with me.”
“And how will following you to London help your case?”
“I want you to meet my uncle. I have never introduced him to a woman, and the thought terrifies me.” Shadows danced in his eyes, darkening the green to a lake-deep black. “His behavior… it can be erratic. I do not wish you to come to harm because I put you in harm’s way. But if I’m asking you to dive headfirst into your fears, I should do the same. God, Jane, it’s my greatest wish that he no longer courts his own demise. And if it’s true, it’s the beginning of a new life for him. And for me. Yet… the fear remains. A lifetime of the stuff cannot be eradicated entirely with a single letter. Come to London with me. We’ll face our fears together.”
She lifted her hand from his sleeve. The George who stood before her opened himself entirely to her. There—a passionate man’s heart beating firmly on his sleeve. And in his eyes—a boyish hope and longing for a sunny future. The contours of his muscles spoke of determination, and the corner of his full lips, somehow, though he spoke no words—love.
“I—”
“Yoo hoo!” Christiana stopped in the doorway, posed like a fashion plate, fluttering her eyes at them. “Have I interrupted something?”
George buttoned his heart, his eyes, and his lips back up until none of what he’d revealed to Jane remained on display.
She wanted to weep for the loss.
“Good morning, Countess,” he said. “I was just leaving. I must prepare for my return to London. I leave tomorrow.”
Christiana stuck her bottom lip out. “So soon? How sad. But fortuitous. I do not mean to celebrate the end of your visit or speed it along in any way, but I saw Jane out here and thought to have a word with her. In private.” Her eyes sluiced over him like rain, rolling around every inch of skin she could see. “You look very well indeed.” Her voice was low and husky, and she used the swaying hip walk as she ambled toward him.
“Lord Abbington and I are having a private conversation, Christiana,” Jane said.
“Then choose a more private locale if you wish to continue.” She smirked.
“We had finished,” George said, his words clipped. “Good day, Lady Whitwood, and my gratitude for your hospitality during my illness.”
Christiana waved a hand at him.
He bowed low. “Lady Jane, have a merry Christmas.” Then he left.
Jane almost collapsed with the will it took to keep her feet from moving after him. She reminded herself why they must stay put.
