Page 41 of A Dare too Far

Better to never love at all.

Solid resolution, practical and safe.

Then why did it cut so? She rubbed the pads of her fingers across her knuckles, then lifted them to her lips. Both places George had touched her, changed her.

The last time Jane had cried was on the eve of her first ball. Her mother’s absence had felt like a missing organ, like her heart had been cut clean from her chest. Before that, she’d cried when they’d lowered her mother’s body into a sunless hole in the ground. She should have cried, it seemed, when her father had married Christiana.

She cried now, and the tears rolling down her cheeks reminded her—she was wrong. The last time she cried was not over her mother’s absence.

She’d cried for George.

She didn’t even know how to feel about him anymore, and that made the tears fall faster.

Chapter 12

George paced the length of his bedroom and back. Worry was a constant for him. He barely registered the emotion. But worry for Jane felt new and raw. He did not like it.

He also did not like her system of finding a match, which is what brought on the worry. On the one hand, it was a damned brilliant idea. She’d learned much in a mere two hours. At least, George had. He already knew who the winner should be, and Jane likely did too.

Newburton. He was sensible enough to counter Jane’s daring side and energetic enough to keep up with her. His bloody gorgeous mistletoe showed he was a talented man in surprising ways, and Jane deserved that. She was surprising too. The questions had worked. Her interests aligned with Newburton’s. He’d not stayed to see the kiss.

He’d needed distance, time, to gain control.

Yet even now he felt half wild.

Jane had not been at dinner. Where was she? Up a tree? Plotting new rounds for the suitors to complete? Running off with Lord Devon? Not knowing would drive him to the brink of an abyss.

Well, it could be remedied. A short walk would bring him to her room and reveal the reason she was not at dinner that night. With his curiosity sated, he could return to his room and fall into a peaceful slumber.

He sat and cemented his ass to a chair. “No.” He had as many reasons to stay far from Jane as he had fingers and toes.

But something felt off. This morning she’d been determined and, yes, victorious. He’d seen it in her eyes. She’d inched closer to a decision. He knew it.

He hated it.

He ignored that.

George jumped from his seat and strode from the room. He’d check in on her. Briefly. Very briefly. He’d ask about her decision, satisfy his curiosity, and leave. He wouldn’t even enter her room. He could do all that from the safety of the hallway.

He knocked on her door, and it opened almost immediately.

Jane’s long hair hung in a braid over her shoulder, as it had the night before. “Oh. George. What a surprise.” Her cheeks pinked deliciously.

George knitted his hands behind his back so he didn’t reach out and grab that braid. It might as well be a rope tied tight about his gut. She’d tangled him thoroughly.

“You were not at dinner,” he said.

She lifted a hand to her temple. “I did not feel well.”

He stepped closer, glancing over every inch of skin open to his inspection. “Residual effects from the fall?” The scratch on her jaw appeared to be healing. Were there worse injuries he could not see? He itched to check for them. “Should we call for the doctor?”

“No, no. I am healing nicely.”

“We should send for the doctor, anyway.”

She pressed her palms against his chest and pushed. When had he gotten so close?

“No,” she assured him. “It’s more of an illness of the heart than of the body. I’m perfectly fit. I promise.” She frowned up at him. “But you are not. Your arm is still in the sling, I see.” She wrapped her hands around his wrist and pulled him inside her room. “Sit by the fire. Rest.”