Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
His wife was being unusually silent. Which was to say Jane had not spoken more than to answer his greeting or questions the whole of dinner.
Nor had she even raised a brow when he spoke of a crate of books newly arrived that morning.
Richard frowned into his pudding. Had he done something to intimidate her?
Their breakfast had proceeded as usual. She had been gone for part of the afternoon.
He had not been about when she returned.
In fact, they had spoken little all day. Perhaps that was the problem.
“Would you prefer to retire to the parlor or the library? There are the new books to inspect.”
Jane set her spoon down next to her barely touched pudding. “The library.”
“We need not go until you are finished.”
“I am not very hungry this evening.” She turned to the waiting footman. “Please relay my apologies to the cook. The food was excellent.”
Jane preceded Richard into the library, not taking his arm for the short walk.
She went to the open crate of books. She lifted out the first volume and opened the leather cover.
“Kinder-M?hrchen. German children’s stories?
” She turned the page. “Nussknacker und Mausekonig. Am vierundzwanzigsten Dezember—” her voice trailed off as she read.
On the twenty-fourth of December, if he translated correctly. Richard moved closer to see the book that had her so enthralled. He placed a hand on her shoulder.
Jane whirled, closing the book as she did, slamming the tome against his side. Her eyes grew wide, and she dropped her weapon on his foot, causing him to step back.
“No, oh, no.” She gasped and covered her mouth with one hand, all color draining from her face as her eyes widened.
The book lay between them on the floor. Richard resisted the urge to clutch his aching side where the spine had caught him in the ribs. He kept his voice low and his hands where she could see them. “I am not hurt.”
She did not respond.
He willed her to believe the lie. “Jane. Look at me. I am not hurt.”
Her eyes flicked from his face to his side.
“I startled you.” He did not say you startled me, though she had. Both by defending herself and the strength of her reaction. “That was my fault entirely.”
A sound escaped her, half breath, half sob, and she pressed her hand harder against her mouth as though she could contain her reaction. She was still watching him. Still waiting.
“I am not going to —” He stopped. He did not know what she was waiting for. He did not know what her father had done to her or how many times, though he was beginning to understand the shape of it. He only knew that whatever she expected him to do next, he would not.
“Jane.” He said the words quietly, issuing an invitation, not a command, and opened his arms.
She looked at him for a long moment before lowering her hand and stepping into his arms. As she settled against his chest, he closed his arms around her slowly and held her there, the crown of her head just below his chin.
He didn’t speak. He simply held her, praying she felt his protection and his acceptance.
A breath shuddered through her. “I am sorry. So sorry.”
“There is nothing to be sorry for. I startled you.”
She pushed back enough to look up at him through moist eyes. “But if I do not — if I cannot—then you will not—we will not— there will not be an heir. I will not have lived up to my a-a-agreement.” She drew in a deep breath and lowered her eyes. “You should have chosen someone else.”
“Jane, we have time.” Slowly he brought his hand to her face and brushed the tear that finally escaped her eye with his thumb. “We have not even been wed a fortnight.”
She shook her head, dislodging his hand. “And I have yet to help you as I should — your birthday is only three days away—I am not a good wife or duchess.”
“Jane.” As he waited for her to look at him, he slid his hand down her arm to her hand.
Finally, she looked up. Not breaking eye contact, he led her to the nearest seat, an oversized chair.
He sat down, gently tugging her to sit across his lap, putting them eye to eye.
“You have helped. You married me quickly before my birthday. You stayed after I left you on our wedding day, forgave me for thinking you were a maid. According to my valet, I am not half as surly as I was. You give me a reason to smile.”
“But—”
Richard set a finger on her lips to keep her from protesting.
She stilled beneath his touch.
He let his finger linger a moment longer than was necessary, her breath warmed his hand. When he lowered his finger to her chin, sliding up lightly against her jaw, his thumb caressing the curve of her face.
She did not pull back.
He watched her face for hesitation or a flinch.
None came. She watched him with those steady, serious eyes that he had come to recognize as Jane thinking.
Her gaze lowered to his lips, then back to his eyes.
Whatever she decided, it was not to look away.
He willed her to find what he had yet to name.
The growing feeling that neither Webster nor Johnson adequately described.
The budding desire he felt for her. Not the need for an heir.
Not his marital rights. A gift from one soul to another.
“My dearest Jane.” He leaned in slowly enough that she could stop him. She didn’t.
The kiss was gentle and brief, and when he drew back, she closed her eyes. He stayed close, his forehead nearly touching hers, giving her a moment. He was aware of his own heartbeat in a way that seemed faintly ridiculous for a man of his age.
When she opened her eyes, her lips turned up in a near smile. This time she closed the distance. Her hand moved behind his head to pull him closer, drawing him to her.
Richard, who had held himself carefully in check since the schoolroom, stopped being careful. He pulled her closer still, his hands moving along her back.
Her fingers curled into his hair with a certainty that undid him more than any practiced gesture could have. Whatever she had been afraid of, she was not afraid of his touch, his kiss.
Which was precisely why he pulled back.
Not far. His forehead dropped to hers again and he stayed there, breathing, his hands holding her at her waist. A look of determination filled her eyes, her spine stiffened. Was she trying to prove herself to him or her?
“Not like this.” His voice came out huskier than he intended. “Not in a library chair after you wept in my arms.”
She drew back enough to look at him. Her brows furrowed. Those eyes again, reading him, checking the words against what she could see in his face. “You do not want—”
“On the contrary, I am very far from indifferent. I think you can tell that.”
The faint color that rose in her face confirmed she could.
“When the time is right, I want you to come to me because you wish to. Not because you feel you owe me. Not because you are grateful. Not because you are trying to fulfill an agreement. Or apologize.” He brushed his thumb once more across her cheek. “Do you understand the difference?”
She was quiet for a moment. “I am not sure I do.”
It was the most honest thing she could have said, and her acknowledgment broke his heart a little.
“We have time to learn how to love each other. You do not owe me kisses. Nor should you feel that you must force them.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, brief and deliberate, and settled her back against his chest. They sat there for some time.
The only sound was the fire popping as a log settled in the fireplace.
Her body relaxed and her breathing evened out. Richard’s thoughts returned to his original goal of the evening. “You were upset before I startled you, even before dinner. Will you tell me why?”
Within the safety of Richard’s embrace, the doubts and fears that plagued Jane all afternoon seemed ridiculous, even as they remained and new ones grew.
How could she explain when she could not completely understand her doubts and fears herself?
He could hardly marry someone else now, so even if she had not been on his list of original choices the outcome of their vows could not be undone.
“I have been lost in my silly thoughts, but they do not signify.”
He tipped her chin up with his finger to look into her eyes. “Silly or not, they had you pondering throughout dinner to the point you barely ate. You even had a crease right here.”
He tapped the spot between her eyebrows, almost playfully. “Did I do something to upset you?”
“No, not you. No one really did anything.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did something happen at Lady Comstock’s? Was she unkind?”
“She was courteous.”
“But?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. Jane drew a breath.
“I met Miss Cecile Wharton at Lady Comstock’s today.
She is very beautiful and has obviously spent more time in society.
Miss Cecile is over a year older than me, and she is also a baronet’s daughter.
I know any woman of the ton would have jumped at the chance to marry you, and I could not even look at you during our proposal.
” With effort, Jane pushed down her embarrassment, focusing on Richard’s cravat.
“I know you proposed to Alex first. I know it was practical, not — I know ours is not a love match on either side. But Alex is accomplished and gracious, and she knows how to enter a room. She would have been magnificent as a duchess. I also know why she turned you down despite your friendship and why she recommended me…”
She paused for another deep breath. She could feel his eyes on her, searching her face. She dared not look up, or what little courage she had mustered would flee.