Winning Lady Jane Page 11

  17

  Jacqueline had brushed Jane’s hair with lavender oil and braided it. Jane closed her eyes with the sensation and tried to relax with the sweet scent and let the day go, but her stomach still felt jittery.

  “Goodnight, Mademoiselle. Sleep well,” Jacqueline said, and Jane thanked her.

  After the maid had left the room, Jane read for a while by the light of her candle. She had already finished the book, so it was not very satisfying to re-read it. Eventually, she laid it aside. The thought of Keegain’s library tempted her, but if she wanted a book she should have chosen it earlier in the evening. Truth be told, the thought of Lord Keegain himself tempted her, but she knew that such thoughts led nowhere. Still, she knew she was not going to fall asleep any time soon.

  Her thoughts kept going back to the incident with Lady Margret yesterday, and then the conversation over the dresses today. Was the whole day simply a way to give her a gown that would not seem out of place in the finery of the upper circle of society?

  Perhaps she should not have eschewed their charity. Lady Amelia seemed excited to dress her and Lady Patience too for that matter. Lady Patience had wealth enough for her own dresses. Jane reconsidered; perhaps it was not charity at all, but friendship. The ladies were trying to help her. The thoughts ran round and round her head. Obviously, sleep eluded her just as it had the previous night.

  Jane sighed and slid out of bed. She donned her wrapper, tying it tightly around her. No one else was awake. She was fairly certain of that fact, and she was also fairly certain she could find the library again. She would just pop out; retrieve another book and pop right back to her room. A good book would take her away from her troubles. She would relax into the words and after reading for a bit, she would fall right asleep. She would not spend another night tossing and turning worrying about Lady Margret Fairfax.

  Jane picked up the candle with determination and began working her way toward the darkened library.

  Lord Keegain awoke with a start. He had fallen asleep in his desk chair with papers spread before him and a half glass of brandy by his elbow. The fire had burned down and the room was nearly dark.

  He had a sudden awareness that someone was in the room with him. His immediate thought was for the villain who dared invade the sanctity of his home. He wished for his pistol, but the fireplace poker was within reach. Surreptitiously, he reached for it as the candle the intruder carried bobbed along his shelves coming closer. A moment, he thought. The man must be within reach and then he would have the villain.

  He leapt to his feet brandishing the fireplace poker.

  “Oh!” cried a very feminine voice, and she very nearly dropped the candle. Miss Bellevue.

  Lord Keegain, all in one motion, dropped the poker and jumped to her side to save the flame from falling. Hot candle wax spattered across the lady’s hand and his own and she cried out again, this time in pain.

  “Miss Bellevue,” the earl said. All of the air had quite gone out of his lungs and he stood with one hand on her candle and the other steadying her, holding her, candle wax burning them both.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, but even as he said the words, he knew why she was here. She could not sleep and was taking him up on his offer of a book. He had been quite the fool attacking her with a poker.

  “I thought…I only…” she stuttered, looking up at him with the widest doe eyes he had ever seen. She was less than a step away from him, and she smelled like lavender. Her chest heaved under her scanty night robe and it was all he could do not to pull her sweet softness into his embrace. Sweet heavens, she was lovely. He raised the candle a bit to see her better.

  She grimaced at the wax stuck to her hand.

  “You are hurt,” he said.

  “It’s nothing. Just a bit of wax,” she said as she pulled the globule from her hand. He winced sympathetically and stepped to the liquor cabinet where he kept a decanter of water to mix with the spirits. He sat the candle on his desk, wet his handkerchief and applied the cool compress to her reddened skin.

  “It’s nothing. Really,” she said, but she did not move away from his touch. They stood for a long moment, with her hand in his and the lavender scent of her invading his senses. His body was intimately aware of her soft femininity. He wanted to pull that softness close, but he could not. Instead, he breathed her in. Neither moved as if aware that to move would break the spell.

  “I am terribly sorry,” she whispered.

  “No. It is I who should apologize. I offered you a book and then I nearly attacked you.”

  “You were startled,” she made excuses for him. “Were you asleep?”

  “Yes.”

  The implied vulnerability of it stretched before them. The rest of the house was sleeping. That they were the only two stirring in the dark created a strange intimacy. The white muslin of her night dress teased him where her dressing gown had fallen open. There was only a ribbon at her neck, begging to be pulled. And then what? Nothing but cool white muslin over warm skin. He still held her hand in his.

  She blinked at him, and he thought he could kiss her now. She was so lovely, so soft, so trusting. He could pull that softness into his arms and kiss her. Just a kiss. And even that would betray her trust. He could not.

  He pulled in a slow deep breath, ignoring the lavender scent of her.

  “What sort of books do you like?” he asked. He transferred her injured hand to his opposite, and with the damp cloth still held on her burn, he led her toward the shelves, the flickering light of the candle sending their shadows dancing along the wall of books.

  “Novels mostly,” she said. “Or history.”

  “History?” he repeated. “Truly?”

  “Well, the purpose of the book was to put me to sleep,” Jane said pulling her hand from his, but keeping his dampened handkerchief wrapped around her injury.

  Lord Keegain chuckled lightly. “Oh I see. May I choose one for you?” he asked.

  “Please do,” Jane said and he pulled two of his favorites from the shelf. He paused, still holding the books, unwilling to give them to her. Unwilling to see her go. “I also enjoy history,” he said.

  The shared topic seemed to be more than it should have been. In the quiet night, it was a secret thing.

  She reached for the books, but he shook his head. “Let me escort you back to your room,” he said and she nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  They walked through the darkened hallways in silence as if they were two ghosts who could not quite touch one another, as if they had just realized the danger of touching.

  When he reached the door of her bed chamber he paused giving her the candle in her left hand and taking her right hand again in his. He was not sure why he did it, but he tucked the books under his arm and unwrapped the moist cloth slowly and gently from her hand.

  “Oh yes. Your handkerchief,” she said almost breathlessly, but instead of taking the cloth, he lowered his lips to the burn on her hand, kissing her in the only way he was able. His lips found her soft flesh, and a jolt of desire rushed through him. The chaste kiss was not nearly enough. He ached to feel her hot skin beneath his lips. She quivered beneath his touch and he was nearly undone.

  All the while, his conscience was screaming at him. He ignored it, just as he ignored the fact that her bed was only steps away. At last, he wrapped the damp handkerchief around her hand again.

  “Keep it,” he said and handed her the books.

  He gave her a short bow. “Good night, Miss Bellevue,” he said. “Pleasant dreams.”

  He turned and walked away from her while everything in him wished to stay.

  18

  Jane came down too early for breakfast. She knew it the moment she stepped into the dining room and surprised a bevy of servants who were laying out the spread. She sighed and considered retreat. After her encounter with Keegain in the library, Jane had lain awake thinking of him. When she at last fell into a fitful slumber, she woke at her normal
hour, just after dawn. Now, she was too early.

  Lady Margret would think her entirely the country bumpkin if she caught Jane having tea in the kitchens, but she had foolishly come down the front stairs entirely too early and unfortunately, she had no idea how to get to the kitchens from this part of the house.

  She could backtrack, she thought. Return upstairs and come down the servant’s stair instead. She would not upset the balance of the household. She would not see Lady Margret, but she would also not see the earl. Her heart leaped at the prospect of seeing him again this morning and that was just the trouble. She should not wish to see him.

  Jane turned intent upon retracing her steps. She would return to her room now, and come down later she told herself. She turned only to bump right into Lord Keegain who had just entered the dining room behind her.

  “My lord!” she gasped and stepped back hastily to bob a quick curtsey. The closeness was too like the closeness of last night when he had surprised her and caught her. When for just a moment, he had held her close even if he had not meant to do so. His eyes went to the red mark on her hand where the wax had splattered and she knew he was remembering the moment too. She felt the heat of a blush fill her face, or perhaps it was just the heat associated with his nearness.

  “We are the first it seems. Come. I expect the others will be along soon enough. Although,” he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially as he passed, “I shall not wait for them. I prefer my eggs hot.”

  She should not follow. Jane knew she should return to her room.

  Still, her feet seemed to have a mind of their own. She fell into step beside him, trying to ignore the way his warm breath in her ear had sent delicate shivers throughout her body.

  “You are one who rises early as a habit then?” she asked even though she knew it was so. Still, she could not say she had watched him ride out in the mornings from her window. She settled in the chair that he pulled out for her.

  “I have been known to. Though I think the storm kept me awake.”

  Was that what kept him awake, Jane wondered? She glanced at the tall windows. Heavy velvet draperies blocked out the chill, leaving only a thin line of glass between them where the fabric did not meet exactly. She could see the wild tossing of branches on the trees outside, and the thick gray snow clouds releasing a deceptively fine snow, but as yet it had not accumulated.

  She attempted to make polite conversation. “Are you worried for the ball then?” she asked, smiling her thanks at a footman who came forward to assist her with her plate.

  “I expect the snow will likely not be heavy, but I hope the rest of our guests arrive safely in this weather.”

  So they were speaking of the weather then. It seemed a safe subject, after their closeness last night. Surely he had felt the pull too. Was it only her feelings that had so nearly overwhelmed her? She had to know.

  “Was that what kept you awake?” She asked primly. “Worry for your guests?”

  “I must concern myself for the safety of my guests,” he said, his voice deep and low.

  “And such things keep you up at night?” Jane felt her face warm at the unintended innuendo. They were treading too close to forbidden desires, but she could not seem to help herself. The sensual moments of last night were one thing, but now, in the light of day, shouldn’t her passion have cooled? Their moment in the library seemed a dream. She would almost think she had imagined it if she did not still have his handkerchief.

  Lord Keegain put down his fork and gazed at her. His warm brown eyes seemed to see right through her.

  “Certainly that was the case last night,” he said seriously and when she seemed flustered, he reached across the table, catching her hand and rubbing a soft thumb against the red mark on her wrist. A shiver ran through her.

  “Are you cold?” Lord Keegain asked.

  “Quite the contrary,” she whispered.

  “I should not like my guests to be uncomfortable,” he said. His fingers on hers were hypnotic, tracing a path that brought tremors to the very core of her.

  A servant came in carrying a platter and she pulled her hand away, self-conscious. “I expect it was the noise of the wind,” she said. “That…that kept you awake.”

  “Was that what kept you awake, Miss Bellevue?” he asked.

  “Yes. I was uneasy all night through.”

  “I would not wish it so,” Lord Keegain said.

  “I mean, I am afraid of winter storms,” she admitted. Jane rarely admitted her fears, and had surprised herself by being so candid. She shuddered and picked up her fork. The idea of being out on ice-encrusted roads in that gale terrified her. It seemed a recipe for sure disaster.

  She shot a look at the earl, seeing his expression thoughtful as he stared at the window. He was troubled by something, and it was not just the weather, she was sure.

  For a moment, Jane entertained the idea that he had been left wakeful for the same reason that she had been. He had been thinking of their encounter. Their encounter last night had left her with a yearning that even now tugged at her. She had spent much of the night staring at the fire in her room, trying to sort out her reaction to the earl.

  Never before had she understood the attraction that occurred between a man and a woman. She had read about such things in romance novels, and heard it talked about in whispers between young ladies. The idea of romance was something she had considered a fantasy until now. Something that would remain forever locked within the pages of a book. Until last night. The reality of it had near taken her breath away and left her heartbroken. The earl was not hers to covet in this way, nor could he ever be.

  He is the brother of a friend of mine, Jane reminded herself. For Charlotte’s sake as well as my own, I must remember that fact. Jane vowed to be polite to the earl, but to keep a distance. At dawn it had seemed the easiest solution. Now, in light of day, with the object of her desires before her, Jane’s resolve wavered.

  “You are not eating,” Lord Keegain said concerned. “Is the sausage not to your liking?”

  She took a bite of the sausage on her fork, not really tasting it, even though it was her favorite breakfast food. When she swallowed, she forced herself to speak.

  “Tell me about your other guests. Will there be many attending beyond what was at dinner last night?” she asked suddenly, desperate to break the awful silence that had fallen between them.

  Perhaps if she talked as one would to a casual acquaintance, she could convince herself that he was just that. And only that. If only she could still her galloping heart.

  “A few,” the earl said, turning towards her with a smile as he lay down his fork and started listing names and family connections that she could not follow. In truth, Jane heard nearly none of it, for her attention was on his strong fingers as he gestured, the way his half smile seemed to light his eyes and the sooty fringe of his lashes when he looked down in thought.

  Jane was caught by Lord Keegain’s handsome profile and she remembered anew the way he had bent over her hand when they’d met; the way he had bent over her hand at her bedchamber door last night. The feel of his lips on her skin. The very thought sent shivers of delight through her.

  “Do you not agree?”

  Jane blinked. She realized she had not heard the rest of the question and had no idea what he was asking. She must have held a panicked look in her eyes.

  The earl laughed then, and she blushed, for it was clear that he had seen Jane had not been attending his words.

  “I do beg your pardon, my lord. I think my mind was on other things. The library last night…”

  She broke off. She had not intended to say the last. Her traitorous lips had betrayed her in the worst way. She felt her face burn with the flush of embarrassment.

  “Yes,” he said, and there was a long silence between them as the footman poured her tea and the earl’s coffee. When they finally withdrew, Lord Keegain asked, “Did you enjoy the books I recommended?”

  Jane had not yet read t
hem. She did not know what to say.

  Lord Keegain pressed on. “You mentioned you enjoyed history and novels. Which are your favorites?”

  Although Jane loved many novels, at the moment she could not think of a single title. She only stared at him while she attempted to get her brain to function.

  “I too have thought of little else,” Lord Keegain said, his voice soft and resonant. It went right to the heart of her. For a moment their eyes met. She could drown in those eyes, hazel with flecks of green and gold. They were suddenly so dark. She must have leaned into him; just a bit. Then hastily they both looked away, him to his toast and her back to her sausages which had grown cold on her plate. Still, looking down, she began, “I should not have…”

  “I wish we could…”

  They had both started talking at once and the pair laughed now, some of the tension easing.

  “Do go on,” Lord Keegain urged, and Jane shook her head for the words seemed silly now, too trite to explain this oddness that came over her when she was with him. How did one explain that her heart could not stay within her breast properly when he was near? She felt it now, giving strange staggering beats that seemed too fast by far when he looked at her in that knowing way. As if he could see straight through her. Her hand touched the space just above her heart, as though to still the organ. Slow down, she wanted to say. He cannot be yours.

  “It is no matter, my lord. What say you?”

  “Only that I wish we could have met…sooner.”

  Jane gasped, color flooding her cheeks for a second time. It was as much a declaration as any she had ever heard. Such talk should be confined to his betrothed. He is betrothed, her heart screamed, but she spoke. “You should not…”