Page 22 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)

Amelia

“How does it feel to be in a dress of your own?” Mr. Jack asked as he glazed over the fairy cake conversation. He may have had nothing to do with the treats after all. But why would Mrs. Gentry want me to believe that he did?

“Wonderful,” I answered, then quickly lowered my voice as to not be overheard by his maid. “While it was exceptionally kind of Anna to offer her dresses, they were a tad short for me.” I smiled and whispered as if we shared some great secret, and I was surprised at how natural it felt.

Mr. Jack’s lips lifted in a partial grin. I could not pull my eyes away, now that I could see his face more clearly. Without his hat, his wild strands were tucked behind his ears. “Yes,” he said with a chuckle. “I quite enjoyed your replacement stockings.”

My mouth parted. “You saw?”

He chuckled lightly again. “They were hard to miss.”

I should have been embarrassed or upset over such a bold statement, but now entering this third day of residing in this peculiar place, I was no longer stunned or offended. And, surprisingly enough, I had grown accustomed to our surroundings… even the barbarous décor.

Last night, Daisy and I had spent the evening after dinner stalking from animal to animal discussing their essence—predator or prey, what might their diet entail, and whether their slaughter was defensible. Snakes, every detestable one, deserved death without question. Squirrels and birds? Certainly not. Wild pigs, foxes, and deer? Their fates hung in arguable debate, and the animals we could not identify we judged with hasty guesses. However, the silly game to pass time was only confined to the great room and our individual chambers. I yearned to know what odious animals lurked in the other rooms… like Mr. Jack’s private suite.

“Do you have animals in your bedchamber, Mr. Jack?” I asked before I took a bite of my eggs.

“I do,” he answered with a smile. “My uncle who owned this house previously, kept his favorites in there.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Elk and moose antlers, an enormous boar, and a brown bear, though I am uncertain where he shot that, for we don’t have any here… in addition to a dozen other species.”

“That sounds like a crush.”

“Oh, not at all. I assure you, the room is quite spacious. I could show it to you.”

My fork froze midair in its journey to my mouth for another bite.

“I—uh, forgive me.” He cleared his throat. “That was inappropriate to suggest.”

I was suddenly stirred by his innocent charm. Since our arrival and our first spirited row, I observed how Mr. Jack conversed with the others in comparison to me. Oftentimes, he carried himself stoically, almost noble; but with me, he continually stumbled over his words like a green boy just out of the schoolroom.

“No,” I placated. “I’m not affronted. I should be the one to apologize. It was impertinent of me to inquire about your bedchamber.” I felt my cheeks warm.

Mr. Jack stopped eating and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I didn’t used to be so inept with people.”

I waited, hoping he would share more. I was so dratted curious about this man that I hardly considered anything else. I placed my fork down to give him my full attention. The way he angled his body toward me in response told me a lot of what he intended. He was exposing an uncomfortable part of himself, and the very thought touched me.

“I have been away from home for a significant amount of time and many factors have led to my inability to converse with others without being clumsy, graceless, or even insensitive at times. I beg your forgiveness, Miss Amelia, for I certainly do not wish to offend or distress you.”

I was stunned to silence. I had expected something… but not this . Mr. Jack revealed a weakness in such a raw and honest manner as if it was the most natural thing for a man to share.

I studied his face—the lines beneath his eyes were subtle enough to not mar his attractiveness but revealed a faint unease. “What haunts you, Mr. Jack?” I nearly threw my palm to my mouth when I asked this. It just slipped out and I instantly regretted it. What if he faced grief over loss of a loved one? Like Peter. Or a tragedy, or heartache? I had no right to meddle in his personal affairs.

His forehead wrinkled and, when he stared at me, I was certain that the blue in his eyes darkened.

The silence made me restless, so I quickly uttered, “I notice things about people.”

“What does that mean?” he whispered.

I shifted in my seat. Did I dare speak this plainly with him? Though his features revealed confusion, his eyes were warm and inviting. “I do not know when or how it started, but I perceive small details about people that others might miss.”

“What do you perceive from me?” When he looked so pointedly at me, the heat from my chest began to rise in my throat.

I took a deep breath. “You wish to be alone… not forever but for a significant amount of time.”

“I told you that.” He smiled and winked.

A shiver trailed my spine.

“Very well.” I met his stare with fortitude. “You do not typically have a mustache and beard because it bothers you when you eat.”

He arched a brow.

“You do not eat anything sweet.”

“I had a biscuit yesterday.”

“That you seemed to choke down at tea.”

He chuckled.

I reached for his hand and touched his palm, sending gooseflesh to my toes. “You don’t normally work with your hands because you have few scars and new injuries.”

He curled his fingers around mine and my mind went blank. What was I doing? My heartbeat thundered in my chest.

He smiled and pulled his hand away. “What else?”

“I have not quite figured out where you fit on the hierarchy scale, but I am convinced you are closer to gentry than a tradesman.”

“It cannot be due to my attire,” he said with a laugh. “You believe this why?”

“Clothes can be deceiving. You have a staff which is typical of a master, but you are much kinder than most who boast such authority. Your comportment is precise when you wish it to be, but you work hard at keeping it measured, controlled… almost hidden.”

Mr. Jack stiffened, and I knew I was right.

He stood and seized a generous breath, and I watched his chest rise and fall. When he saw me looking, he cleared the concern that weighed his features down and smiled. “The sun is shining for the first time in three days, Miss Amelia.” Mr. Jack diverted our conversation. “What do you say to a draw between friends and a stroll outside where we might take stock of any additional belongings that may have survived the river and the rain?”

“Yes, please.” I smiled genuinely, slightly relieved he was not angry with me. “That would be wonderful.”

Mr. Jack gestured toward the door. “It is still rather cool in the shade, but I have a coat you can use.”

“Oh, Mrs. Gentry has lent me a shawl.” I picked up a crocheted wrap from over the chair. Draping it across my shoulders, I stepped to his side without thinking twice of how such a meager covering might appear on me. I had not abandoned my desire to look presentable, it only became less of a priority under the circumstances.

“And we can also discuss the means of getting you to the village as soon as possible,” Mr. Jack suggested. “For that is what you wish, is it not?”

I bit my bottom lip. It was. At least it was when I thought I could get to the lecture, but now… now I felt this strange comfortability here.

“Isn’t it?” Mr. Jack repeated, and the way he looked at me melted me from the inside out.