“I do not have an appropriate ballgown, I’m afraid. And I do not know if I can get a new one on such short notice.”
Martha hugged Jane. “Pish. We’ll figure it out. I am very glad you convinced George to take a risk or two.”
George was taking a risk. He glanced at his uncle, then escorted Jane from the room. Once in the hallway, he pulled her across black-and-white marble tiled floors and all the way up the stairs.
“This is not the way to the coach,” she said.
“No, it is not.”
He could not shake the scene they’d just left, one more of domestic bliss than nightmarish terror. Had he been wrong to worry so much?
He had been a child with no one to look after him when his uncle had taken over guardianship of him and Martha. Jane was an adult woman who could look after herself. His uncle could not hurt her as he'd hurt George.
Martha, as usual, was right.
He opened the door at the end of the second-floor hallway and pulled her into his bedroom. The fire glowed on the other side of the room, but the room was more shadow than light.
Jane blinked two, three times, then swung her gaze back to him. “This is a bedroom.”
“Very astute, Lady Jane.”
“It's not yours, is it?”
“Every bedroom in this house is mine.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her fists found her hips. “You know what I mean.”
He kept his arms draped about her waist, despite her fists. “It is the room in which I sleep.”
“Ah. And will I sleep in it as well?”
“You will.”
“And will I sleep in it tonight?”
He stood on a limb, wavering in the breeze. He could step back into safety and send her back to the Clarkes. He could arrange a long and frankly frustrating engagement, but Jane would be safe from Neville, and George would keep everything firmly within his control.
George could control much. He had throughout his life. But was it fair to attempt to control Jane? Was it even possible? And when a daring Jane excited him in every possible way, did he even want to?
He pulled away from her, his head a muddle, hope he’d thought he’d banished tearing through his flesh and bones, forcing him to envision a different future than the one he so cautiously planned.
Hope opened his eyes and made him look—Jane by the fire with Neville. A feeling of family, not fear.
“George? Is something amiss?” Jane reached a wary hand toward him, her lips quirked sideways with concern.
“Many things, likely. But I don’t give a damn. Not tonight.” He pulled her into his arms and ravished her mouth with his own.
Her mouth opened to him; her body melted under his touch. She did not hesitate one moment or waste one breath before giving herself to him.
Brave woman.
And he was a careless man, selfish, too, because he’d take what he wanted and damn the consequences. But first, he needed to tell her why. He wrapped his hands around her shoulders and set her at arms’ length. Her lust-hazed eyes focused, and her lips slipped into a luscious pout. He kissed them, a brief caress, then put distance between them once more.
“I do not think I realized how lonely I was,” George said, “until I had you at my side. Or perhaps I could deal with my loneliness better when I did not realize what it was like to have a true companion. Someone to discuss matters with, someone to make me laugh and to make laugh in return.”
Her pout transformed into a grin.
“I am selfish when it comes to you. I don’t want to do the right thing.”
