Page 11 of Sleepless in Saunton
“I … suppose … I must … for Tatiana’s sake.”
CHAPTER3
Barclay had grown weary of the house party, and it was only the second day. Tatiana and Aurora were having tea with the countess in the family drawing room, but he was unaccustomed to idle days. Idle houseguests made it even worse, drawing him into annoying discussions.
After escaping an inane conversation with a spoilt young beau who had introduced himself as Lord Julius Trafford, Barclay sought the library. Surely anyone he encountered in that venerated room would be inclined to be more intelligent than the pontificating fool, along with his insipid poetry, whom he had just left behind in the billiard room?
Barclay relaxed as he entered the room of shelves and books, even considering shutting the door behind him when … when he saw her.
The earl’s son, Ethan, was playing chess. Barclay had met the lad the afternoon before when he had been bullied into his own match with the boy, whose current companion distracted Barclay.
She was utterly glorious. A mane of ebony curls poised on her elegant head, smooth creamy skin to draw his eye, and long limbs. Long, long limbs.
The young woman finished her move and then sat back in her chair, her ice-blue eyes flickering over to notice him standing at the door. She blinked in surprise, gazing at Barclay intently as she nervously tucked a lock of silky hair behind her ear. It was a magical moment, intensity sparking between them in visceral awareness. Something he had not experienced since the first time he had laid eyes on Natalya upon his arrival in St. Petersburg.
The profound connection was abruptly severed when Ethan spoke to her from across the table. Barclay resumed his breathing, blinking several times as the room came back into focus.
“UncleBar-clee!” The little boy had just noticed his presence, hopping off his chair, careful not to disturb the board, before racing over. He lifted his arms, and Barclay realized the boy wanted him to lift him. He bent over to scoop the boy up, who embraced him in a hug. “Are you here to play chess with me? I am in the middle of a game at the moment, so you will have to wait a bit.”
Barclay chuckled. The boy was unbearably sweet, only four or five years old, but Richard had informed him that the lad had grown up with a large, exuberant family, so he was in his element to have new relations in residence. “I suppose I might wait my turn. Who is your lovely opponent?”
Ethan wriggled out of his arms as Barclay gently lowered him, racing back across the room. “Miss Jane Davis, may I present my UncleBar-cleeTom … Tom’s son …” The boy’s face fell at his failed attempt to formally introduce him.
“Thompson.”
Ethan tried again. “May I present my UncleBar-cleeTom-son?”
The lovely creature he addressed stood up and politely curtsied. “Good afternoon, Mr. Thompson. I am glad we finally meet.”
This was the woman his daughter had proposed to? She was heavenly. Barclay bowed deeply, deeper than he intended. Blazes, was he nervous about meeting the young woman?
“The pleasure is mine, Miss Davis.”
She laughed, the sound harmonious, like the ringing of one of the perfectly pitched bells his firm had recently arranged to be hung in a church tower up in Yorkshire.
“Please, we are all extended family of a sort, so there is no need for formalities.” She frowned slightly, as if that statement made her uncomfortable, before elucidating. “That is, you are Ethan’s uncle on his father’s side of the family, and I am his cousin on his mother’s side.”
Barclay quirked an eyebrow. Was Miss Davis elaborating that they were not blood relations? “Of course, we are more directly related because my sister married your half-brother, Perry.” Her face fell at this announcement before she finished her thoughts in defeat. “You may call me Jane.”
Barclay was having trouble focusing on her words, fascinated by her glowing countenance. He managed to bob his head in a brief bow. “Please call me Barclay … Jane.”
They stared at each other, wordless, until Ethan broke the crackling tension. “Will you wait for me to finish my game, UncleBar-clee?”
He nodded, following them back to the game they had set up. He took a seat to observe them play, using the opportunity to run his eyes over the fascinating woman. She was beautiful. Her eyes were framed by sooty black lashes, and she was taller than most women, a mere hand shorter than him. Willowy and graceful, she fueled his overpowering desire to sweep her into his arms in a waltz. His eyes fell to her bow-shaped mouth, which was when he realized he was in trouble. He might not have noticed a single woman other than his own wife in ten years, but now he found himself entranced by a young girl who could be no more than eighteen, considering she had not the faintest line on her flawless skin.
She is too young, Barclay. You cannot possibly be thinking there is a possibility of courtship!
He closed his eyes as Jane moved a piece across the board, collecting his wits. When he opened them once more, he focused on the board and the strategy his young nephew was employing. He looked up to find Jane watching him, but her eyes quickly skittered away. It would appear she was just as aware of him, of the frisson of excitement that her presence evoked.
This is horribly inappropriate, Barclay. You need a mature woman who can be a mother for your daughter. Are you your father’s son to have your head turned by a woman who has not yet reached her majority?
He shivered in repulsion. Jane could not be more than a year or two older than his own mother when she had been seduced by his lecherous sire. He needed to seek an appropriate woman of … appropriate years, not have his head turned by a young girl.
Yet … there was something about her. A spark of magic.
It is not magic; it is lust! Latent hereditary impulses.
On the other hand, she seemed just as enamored as he was.
