Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
More. There must be more. Jane watched as her hands slid up Richard’s shirt and past his cravat all of their own accord.
He breathed deeply. The exhale almost sounded like her name.
If she tilted her head up, there would be another kiss, she knew that as well as she knew her name.
If she tilted her head down, he would kiss the top of her head and hold her until she stepped away.
Unsure how she knew this, Jane closed her eyes.
She just kissed a man. Her husband. The pleasant whirls inside encouraged her to tilt her head up.
For the first time in years, fear, her constant companion, slipped into the swirls and floated away. His hands on her back held her firmly, yet safely. The swirls moved faster as her lips moved with his. Too much, too much.
Jane broke the kiss, surprised to find her hands around his neck. She dropped them back onto his chest. His breathing was as rapid as hers. His heart beating under her hands echoed the one in her chest.
Breathless. Was this breathless?
She must have said the words out loud, as Richard chuckled, his chest rumbling under her hands.
He ran a finger down the side of her face. “Yes. This, is, breath-less. I, did, not, expect, it, either.” He enfolded her in his arms, holding her until their breathing returned to normal.
Richard stepped back, his hands slid down her arms to her hands. Holding her at arm’s length.
The swirls slowed. Fear separated itself, throwing questions at her mind.
Had she kissed him properly? Was this how proper wives behaved?
Phil seemed to enjoy kissing Michael. So the enjoyment was what?
If not proper, not wrong either. Though she had never witnessed one so intense.
A private kiss meant only for husband and wife, or lovers. Should she say something? Thank him?
Richard cleared his throat. “It looks as if Duke wishes us to leave.”
The dog scratched at the doorjamb as he did when he wished to go out.
It was for the best. She did not know what to do next. As she dropped Richard’s hands, she chose not to say a thing to her husband. “Come, Duke. Outside.”
The dog hurried ahead of her out of the room. The human duke followed close behind.
A moment alone. Yet she was stuck between her two dukes.
The one behind her was not chasing her as he could easily overtake her with his longer stride.
If she took Duke outdoors herself there was a good chance Richard would accompany her.
If she turned to her chambers, the dog might follow her and bring her back to help with his need.
In a house with more than a dozen footmen, actual ones and not the large guards, where was one when she needed one?
Then the dog’s need would be solved, and she could beg off for a moment alone using the dog’s excuse and the need to retire for a few minutes.
Halfway down the grand staircase, she found a footman carrying a missive on a silver tray.
He looked past her to her husband. That would delay Richard for a moment.
Jane continued down the stairs. The canine increased his speed.
Another footman stepped forward. “Shall I attend to the dog, Your Grace?”
“If you would please.”
She looked over her shoulder and saw that Richard still spoke to the footman. Still wanting a moment to herself and assuming her husband would want to read the missive in his study. Jane hurried to the library. Pretending to read a book often gave her a few moments of peace with her sisters.
She grabbed a book from the first shelf and hurried deeper into the room.
She sat at the window and opened her book.
Poetry. Worse yet, the author was Robert Burns.
She had been warned about his work. Not appropriate for a young lady.
Definitely not appropriate for this moment.
She did not need to think of all the feelings being held and kissed by her husband conjured.
She needed to think through what came next.
Four more kisses like that would definitely have her opening the door to his room asking for another.
Yet he said he did not expect the kiss to be breathless.
If they had left off at the first touch, it would not have been.
She must be at least a little wanton to have given in to her desire for more.
Jane closed her eyes and tried to sort through all of Phil’s advice she had tried to block out.
There had been something about racing hearts.
Jane put a hand over hers. Her heart no longer beat as fast as it had in the schoolroom, nor as she raced down the stairs. How was she to act properly when her heart and lungs reacted so erratically to his touch. The safety of his arms.
Safe.
She had been so terrified at the thought of kissing him that just less than three weeks ago she had fainted.
A giggle escaped her lips. How ridiculous was that fear?
She had never felt as safe and cared for in her life as in the moment after the kiss when he held her.
More than the whirls inside, her racing heart, or the lack of breath, that moment of absolute peace, tenderness, and safety she wanted again.
Four more times. Then? Could she feel more than she had?
The remaining four could occur within days. Or even this very day, if she wished. Technically, they had kissed many times. Lips parting and coming together, however, counting the kiss as many was not possible. So, one.
One very pleasant interlude. Perhaps that was why poets wrote of such things. She could not think on the experience anymore. She closed the book of poetry. A mathematical treatise was what she needed.
A bark drew her gaze to the window. Duke chased after a stick the footman threw.
Most everyone seemed to at least be tolerant of the canine.
Martha and the footmen adored him as much as she did.
The Kellmore servants had been kind to Sir Galahad, too.
If the two dogs had met, they would have been great friends.
She imagined them playing together, chasing each other around the fountain.
Thus engaged by the happy thought, she did not hear Richard enter the room or come up beside her until he lifted the closed book from her hand.
“Interesting choice of reading material.”
Her cheeks burned. “This was the first book I grabbed. I actually do not wish to read his work.”
“For the best. I should warn you my late wife and her friends had rather bawdy tastes. There are likely an assortment of books neither you nor I wish to read.”
“If your library were organized better, perhaps such books could be kept together on one of the higher shelves?”
“You take exception to the organization of this room?” His voice held a pleasant chuckle.
“Greek philosophy does not belong next to modern crop rotation techniques.”
“As I have long believed. When I was a child, this room was well organized. I believe one of my tutors took it as a personal challenge to classify and arrange the books.”
“What happened then to create such a disarray?”
“A house party. One rainy day, someone suggested a game of building castles from books. I suppose the servants returned the books to the shelves in no particular order to clear the room for other events.”
“How do you ever find anything?” Jane stood and walked to the nearest shelf.
“The tutor created a ledger arranged by subject, language, and author. I can still be certain I own the tome. If I need a book, I send the servants to search.”
After days of not feeling useful, an idea formed. “Do you mind if I supervise the reorganization?”
“You want to work?” Richard sat in the seat opposite her.
Had she asked amiss? “I am used to doing something useful with my days. Well, until this past year at least. So far, all I seem to have to do is to stitch roses in linen or go over menus. I suppose in time I will have callers to entertain and when we are in Town, dinners to arrange. However, those endeavors do not take much time with a staff such as yours, I mean ours.”
“I shall not stop you from taking on this task if that is what you wish. I am sure the ledger will help, though I easily may have added a thousand books to the collection besides what my mother has, and the books such as this that came from Ethel and her friends.” His face reddened.
“I would urge some caution, as some of the books have pictures. If you find a title that sounds dubious, set the book aside, especially if the title is not in the ledger. There are a few I would rather not keep.”
“What of Burns’ poetry book?”
Richard turned the book over in his hands. “There are enjoyable poems in here, perhaps we can read them together someday.”
Jane pushed the idea of reading a nearly scandalous love poem, for what else would be in a book of Burns’ poetry, with her husband out of her head before she could blush. “Arranging the library would be useful, then?”
“I am sure it will be. Though with thousands of books, it is no small task. You shall be hard-pressed to finish before we go to Town.”
“When are we going to London?”
“I must go in the second week of January. I am not disappointed that there was no fall session of Parliament this year, but it will mean all the tedious business items that are normally cleared will be waiting. You may come with me then or wait until the season begins after Lent.”
“I would prefer to go with you, if you don’t mind.” Redbridge was too big and too empty to live in for any time alone, and she much preferred his company.
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I do not mind at all.”