Page 69 of Fair Weather Enemies
“More than that.”
“Approval? Esteem? Consideration?”
He shook his head. Her questioning drove him into an uncomfortable corner. “More.”
She gave him a mock frown. “Oh, please do not say that youlikeme.”
“I will not then.” When her frown became genuine, he shot her a smile. “That term is still too bland to describe my feelings for you.”
She cut wide eyes away from him. “Oh.”
“Do you prefer I not hold your hand?”
“No.” Her reply came quickly before she amended it. “That is to say, I prefer that you hold my hand. In fact, I will miss the presence of your hand when this journey ends.”
The reminder pulled his gaze forward again to the road. They walked in silence while watching Hester and Barlow continue to banter as if strolling through the park on a Sunday afternoon. Eventually, he sighed.
“How I envy them. They are captains of their own destinies. All choices remain theirs for the choosing. Our choices, on the other hand, are a foregone conclusion.”
He glanced down to find her chin quivering. Spontaneously, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it gently. Her mouth fell open with surprise.
“My apologies,” he said. “I could not help myself.”
“No apology necessary.” He noticed that her chin had stopped quivering. He lifted his attention to the middle distance.
“I’ve been thinking about us.”
“What about us?” Her reply was small, tentative but tinged with hope.
“The one scenario under which we might remain friends when this is done. Perhaps more than friends.”
Her fingers clenched abruptly, and she drew near enough to brush his hip. Her blue eyes shined upward at him with cautious expectation. “What scenario is that?”
“If the gold is gone.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But that would breach the contract, which means…”
Understanding lit her features. He put it into words. “If the worst were to happen and there is no gold, the contract is void. If the contract is void, then I am no longer bound to Miss Rutley. If I am no longer bound to Miss Rutley, then I may devote my time and resources to paying your debt and delivering you from prison, even if it takes me ten years to do so. Such an endeavor would prove difficult without the income of an estate, but I would find a way.”
Sorrow washed over her features. “But you would lose your home. Your family heritage. Your standing in society.”
Her description of his potential loss abruptly stabbed his soul. Did he really mean what he promised, should the worst come to pass? He shook away the doubt and laughed softly. “Do you mean to say you would not accept the interest of a poor and destitute man?”
“I would, without question. But your staggering loss would surely break my heart. And besides…” She fell silent and cut her eyes away, her chin again quivering.
“Besides what?” He asked gently, hoping to coax a reply. Whatever she held back appeared too important to remain unspoken. She reaffixed her gaze before dipping her chin.
“Few poor women last ten years in debtor’s prison, and those who do emerge forever damaged.” The words fell softly, mournfully. “Illness, deprivation, or starvation snuffs the candle long before the debt is repaid.”
Adam impulsively halted and released the tether. He reached carefully to capture her quaking chin and lifted it slowly until her eyes reluctantly locked with his.
“Do not lose hope, sweet Jane. We may yet find a way.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jane stared at Adam with dismay as a tempest of doubt flashed like a summer storm across the vista of her mind. The intensity of his gaze dared her to believe in the possibility of wonders, of marvels, of miracles. To believe that fate might undo the intractable knot. However, what he offered could come only in the aftermath of their mutual destruction. She shook her head imperceptibly. He acknowledged her doubt by releasing her chin, lifting her gloved hand, and pressing the back of it to his cheek. He held it steady while her heartbeat stammered out a new tempo.
After blinking slowly, he lowered her hand to his chest level and studied it with a tilt of his head, turning it palm upward as he did so. A soft sigh escaped him, and his free hand rose to enclose her fingers. With the gentleness of a breeze, he began to tug the glove loose, an inch at a time, finger by finger. She stood frozen in glorious disbelief, drawing rapid, shallow breaths. She watched with bewilderment as he peeled the glove slowly from her hand, first exposing the wrist, then the palm, and finally trembling fingers. She tore her stare from her bared hand to meet his still unflinching gaze. The warmth of his brown eyes had given way to a dusky smolder.
