Page 9
Story: Ten Lords for the Holidays
“Liar.”
Jane started, her heart beating faster, but she kept her tone light. “I beg your pardon? I truly do long to see my brother.”
“You are miserable and cannot wait for the morning Major Barnett and I ride away.”
Jane lost her forced smile. “You are rude.”
“I am. Many say this of me. But I am a plain speaker and truthful.” His gray eyes glinted as he fixed an unrelenting gaze on her. “Tell me why the devil you are tying yourself to Barnett.”
Why? There was every reason why—Jane simply had never thought the reasons through. “I have known him a very long time…”
Spencer stepped closer to her. “If you were madly in love with him, you’d have slapped me silly when I tried to kiss you, last night. Instead you joined me.”
Jane rested her muff against her chest, as though it would shield her. “Are you casting my folly up to me? Not very gentlemanly of you.”
To her surprise, Spencer smiled, his anger transforming to heat. It was a feral smile, the fierceness in his eyes making her tremble.
“Iam the fool for kissing you,” he said in a hard voice. “I couldn’t help myself. I think no less of you for kissing me back. In fact, I have been rejoicing all night and morning that you did. Haven’t slept a bloody wink.”
Jane swallowed. “Neither have I, as a matter of fact.”
“Then you give me hope. Much hope.”
He took another step to her, and Jane feared he would kiss her again.
Feared?Or desired it?
She pulled back, but not because he frightened her. She stepped away because she wanted very much to kiss him, properly this time. She’d fling her arms around him and drag him close, enjoying the warmth of him against her.
She touched the muff to her lips, the fur tickling.
Spencer laughed. “You are beautiful, Lady Jane. And enchanting. A wild spirit barely tamed by a respectable dress and winter coat.”
“Hardly a wild spirit.” Jane moved the muff to speak. “I embroider—not well, I admit—paint watercolors rather better, and help my mother keep house.”
“Your grandfather told me stories of himself and your grandmother last night. You are much like her.”
Jane wanted to think so. Maggie MacDonald, what Jane remembered of her, had been a laughing, happy woman, given to telling frightening stories of ghosts that haunted the Highlands or playing games with her grandchildren. She also loved to dance. Jane had a memory of her donning a man’s kilt and performing a sword dance as gracefully and adeptly as any warrior. Grandfather had watched her with love in his eyes.
“She was a grand woman,” Jane said softly. “I can’t begin to compare to her.”
“She is in your blood.” Spencer took another step, pushing the muff downward. “I saw that when we were at the fire. You were free, happy. I will stand here until you admit it.”
“I was.” Jane could not lie, even to herself. “Last night, I was happy.”
“But this morning, you have convinced yourself you must be this other Jane. Dutiful. Tethered.Unhappy.”
Jane ducked from him and started toward the statues at the end of the garden. She had no idea why she did not rush to the house instead—Hercules was far too busy with his own struggles to help her.
Unhappy. Yes, she was. But that was hardly his business.
She heard Spencer’s boots on the snow-covered gravel behind her and swung to face him. “Why do you follow me, sir? If I am miserable, perhaps I wish to console myself in solitude.”
“Because I want to be with you.” Spencer halted a foot from her. “There, I have declared myself. I want to be with you, and no other. I do not care one whit that you and Barnett have an understanding. He is not in love with you—I can see that. Such news might hurt you, but you must know the truth.”
It did hurt. Jane had grown complacent about her friendship with John, pleased she could live without worry for her future, thankful she had no need to chase gentlemen during her Season and could simply enjoy London’s many entertainments. She assisted other ladies to find husbands instead of considering them rivals.
Spencer’s arrival had shattered her complacency, and now its shards lay around her.
Table of Contents
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- Page 9 (Reading here)
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