Page 40 of The Defiant Governess
As he watched the dying flames, he wondered what she would say if he asked her to marry him. Did she truly care for him? Or would it be only the title and the money that would sway her?
Or would she think him mad?
Society certainly would. But he didn’t give a damn for their opinion. There was only one opinion he cared for, yet he was terrified of what it would be.
What would it be if she knew the truth about him?
The answer frightened more than he could admit.
All at once, the stem of his glass snapped in his hand. He stared mutely at the shards of glass on the carpet. Flinging the remains into the fire, he collapsed into his armchair, burying his head in his hands.Broken dreams, a broken life.Could he ever come to terms with what had happened in the past?
Could his life ever be whole again?
Jane somehow managedto move across her room and take a seat on her bed. The blood was pounding in her ears and though the room was chilly, a prickling heat had her flesh feeling afire. She brought her hands to her cheeks and they were burning.
What was happening to her, that the merest graze of his hand could affect her like this?
Steady, steady … Her pulse slowly returned to normal and her breathing became less ragged. However, when she glanced down at her lap, she saw her hands were knotted together in a tight fist.
She forced herself to take a few more deep breaths.
The moon had just risen and its silvery light crept through her window, silhouetting a bouquet of flowers arranged in an oldstoneware jug that sat on her dresser. The same kind of flowers that she had clasped to her breast that first afternoon she had run into the marquess.
It was strange, thought Jane with a quizzical smile. She had long ago ceased to think of him as proud and hard-hearted. Infuriating, yes, and puzzling, too. But on seeing his relationship with Peter blossom, she knew that he was capable of tender feelings, though he seemed to want the world to think otherwise.
And he was devilishly attractive! However improper, she was becoming more and more aware of that.When he looked at her with those sea-green eyes or flashed a lazy smile, she couldn’t help but feel a most peculiar twinge deep inside. Indeed, she had found herself thinking what it would be like to entwine her hands in his long, silky locks, to feel his lips on hers ….
It was, she knew, quite shocking. But with a wry smile Jane finally admitted to herself that she had fallen head over heels for Edward Sebastian Fleetwood.
She was in love with the maddening marquess.
How ironic, thought Jane with a confused sigh. She hadn’t thought it possible to want to give herself up to someone else, and still remain whole—more than whole. And yet that was what she felt in her heart. Somehow, she trusted he wouldn’t trample her ideas, her spirit.
Jane sensed that Saybrook had certain feelings for her as well. He had nearly given voice to his emotions tonight—but what would he have said? A marquess could not think of offering a governess anything but acarte blanche.
The thought of him asking her to be his mistress made her feel ill.
Yet hadn’t he made himself perfectly clear on how he felt about marriage, and aristocratic females in general? She bit her lip in distress. If she revealed her true identity, how could he feel anything but revulsion at her duplicity?Honesty.Forthrightness. That was why he held her in esteem. Certainly not for her looks or sweet disposition. She cringed at how many times she had verbally boxed his ears. He must think her a veritable shrew!
A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. If he knew the truth, he would think her no different than all the scheming Mamas of Society and their simpering daughters She didn’t think her pride could bear that.
Tears began to form as she wrestled with her thoughts. In a wild moment, Jane thought of throwing on her cloak and leaving that instant. It was too dangerous to remain. If he never knew the truth, at least he wouldn’t despise her, like he did all the other ladies of noble birth. But when she considered Peter, she knew she couldn’t wound his innocent trust in such a cowardly manner.
Until she had sorted out just what do to, she must feign coolness towards Saybrook. He must never guess her true feelings.
Eight
The next morning Jane awoke feeling tired and empty. The mirror revealed hollows under her eyes that betrayed how little she had slept. At breakfast, Mrs. Fairchild had voiced her concern, but accepted the excuse of a headache. Jane refused to accede to the suggestion that she return to her bed and insisted she was well enough to give Peter his lessons as usual.
Even the boy seemed to sense that something was troubling her, for he was quieter than usual and quick to follow her every request. As she sat with him, working out sums on a slate, a shadow loomed in the doorway.
“Uncle Edward!” greeted Peter, twisting around in his seat.
“Good morning, imp.”
Saybrook had just returned from riding. His hair was windblown and his face ruddy from the wind, which only heightened the hue of his eyes. He was smiling, though tiny lines around the corners of his mouth hinted at a lack of sleep. His wardrobe had recovered from the ravages of yesterday. The cravat at his throat was knotted perfectly his buckskins were pristine and his boots shone brightly, despite a powdering of dust.
Jane studiously avoided meeting his gaze.
