Page 32 of A Devilish Element
Although that rule was not of her making, and she’d grown exceedingly tired of the rules men made.
“We don’t have to stop.” Daringly she reached down and brushed her hand against the bulge in his breeches. She was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.
“Eliza. Gads!” He pushed her to arm’s length and held her there despite the tremor in his limbs. “I don’t know whether to be shocked or delighted.” His eyes were fever bright. He took hold of her hands, kissed each curled finger in turn. “You astonish me, always, every time we meet, but it would be wrong and foolhardy to proceed down this route.”
“Who’s to stop us? If it’s what we desire, shouldn’t that matter more than anything else?”
“If only all were that simple,” his brow furrowed. “Know this, Eliza. There is no part of me that doesn’t desire this. You’ve haunted me every night since we last parted, but it would be wrong of me to allow this to proceed. There are things… things you ought to know about me before we embark on anything others might consider impropriety.”
“Things? What things, Jem? Don’t say you are bound to someone else.”
His gaze snapped back to her face. “Bound? No, I’m not bound. It’s not that.”
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Jem
One particular person might have had a different opinion about Jem’s freedom, but that was because he was an entitled nob who readily mistook desire for affection and lust for love. Jem prided himself on being an honest man, both to himself and others. If he occasionally bent the truth, it was only with exceedingly good cause. He knew he ought to end this right now, tell her exactly what sort of man he was and all the reasons why that made it impossible for them to be together.
“Eliza, I adore you, but I also hanker after other men, and currently Linfield has me in a bind.”
The words remained lodged in his throat and couldn’t be spat out no matter how hard he prompted himself to do so, not knowing how quickly they would snuff out her regard for him.
Everything had been so much simpler when he thought his opportunity lost. He’d convinced himself that Joshua Rushdale would have wooed and won her by now. That his aunt Mary would eventually write and entirely in passing, remark upon the wedding or some other event where Mr and Mrs Rushdale were in attendance, and then she would recall Eliza to him—the eldest of the Misses Wakefield that came to Stag’s Fell last summer with the party from Lauwine Hall. And he would reply, and say “Oh, yes, I recall. Do pass on my congratulations. I’m so happy for them”, while he died inside. Yet somehow none of that was real. Instead, she stood facing him, reaching for him now.
He had to tell her. He wasn’t interested in a future built on deceits.
“Jem,” Eliza prompted.
“I’ve nothing to offer you,” he said with some difficulty. “It’d be wrong to let you assume otherwise.” He smoothed a stray strand away from her face. “Eliza, I’m not the man you deserve.”
“I don’t think that is true, and in any case, we’re not negotiating a marriage pact. I’m not seeking to wed.”
She wasn’t?
“Is this what you told Joshua too? Is this why—”
“You thought I’d marry Joshua Rushdale?” Her mouth hung open in astonishment.
Jem nodded. His mouth was dry, making it difficult to get his words out. It had seemed so logical when he’d thought it over, alone in his Oxford quarters. “It seemed an obvious assumption that you would choose one or other of us after all that happened at Lauwine, and he has the better prospects.”
Eliza touched his face, as if with her fingertips she could read off his skin what he was failing to put into words. “As it happens, much like you, Joshua hasn’t been very forthcoming with his attentions or correspondence.” She trailed a finger along the ridge of his jaw down to his cravat, then curled her grip around the front of his coat, pulling him back to her so that their warm breaths mingled in the shallow space between them. “Mayhap, I ought to be mad at you both. Instead, I think perhaps I am grateful. Your inaction has allowed me time to think and realise I don’t know that I even wish to wed.”
“Ever?” he gasped. Surely, she didn’t mean it.
“Jem, you must understand that marriage for a woman is to commit to certain duties… duties that would not allow me time for study or the betterment of myself. My life would be dedicated to those and child-rearing, assuming I even survived the horrors of birth. Whereas, if I remain a spinster, then there are no such obligations.”
What she said was not unreasonable. He wished there was change on the horizon, a promise he could make that might alter her views, but he couldn’t even really offer himself, let alone a means of escaping societal expectations.
“Do you see how I might question the seeking of a husband but might also not wish to live a life devoid of intimacy. You say you have nothing to offer me, but I say that isn’t true.”
She meant them to be lovers. It seemed unchivalrous to agree and equally discourteous to accept. Yet, he remained tempted. By her lips, which were right there by his chin. By her eyes, so bright with ardour…. He had only to dip his head a fraction and take what was being freely offered. And he need not let the things that had weighed heavy on his conscience worry him any longer. An affair—illicit in its very nature—was a very different matter to a lifetime connection.
She caught his glance. “Do I shock you, Jem?”
“I don’t know whether to rejoice that you want me, or feel bitter that you reject the notion of—”
“I’ve rejected nothing. Merely questioned convention, and now ask that we put aside the notion of plighting troths or tying unravelable knots and the like aside for the time being. Perhaps on deeper acquaintance, we will find that we do not suit as well as we currently think. Or the opposite, entirely. Perhaps I will become so utterly obsessed with you the notion of binding ourselves with golden shackles shall sound like the most perfect of outcomes.”
