Page 12 of Sleepless in Saunton
Fantastic! It is certain that is precisely what the Earl of Satan said to himself just before he seduced Aurora in this very house more than three decades ago.
His chest tightened, and Barclay wished he was back in London to discuss all the events of the past day with his grandfather. Tsar was a pragmatic man who could assist Barclay to make sense of all this confusion with Tatiana and now … this … surprising fascination for this radiant new relation who had just made a point of their lack of shared blood.
A few minutes later, Ethan announced his triumph. “Checkmate!”
“You won,” she replied in her tinkling voice.
Then the boy frowned. “That was too easy. Did you allow me to win?”
Barclay watched as a delicate blush rose over her neck to color her creamy cheeks while her lashes fluttered down to accentuate the high cheekbones in her embarrassment. “Nay, little cousin. I am distracted. We shall play again tomorrow when I shall challenge you more fiercely than today.”
Ethan dropped onto his feet and walked over to peer up at her face. “Did you not sleep, Jane?”
Jane flicked a glance at Barclay, looking decidedly uncomfortable at the personal question. “I slept fine.”
“At what time?”
“I fell asleep at dawn.” Barclay noticed the dark smudges under her eyes, visible evidence of the nocturnal habits his nephew was questioning her about, which did nothing to mar her graceful splendor.
The boy shook his head in admonishment, his arms akimbo on his chubby waist. “You are no country lass anymore, Jane!”
Jane lifted her hand to cover a smile. Barclay himself pressed his lips together to restrain a chuckle at the boy’s antics. “I shall attempt to do better.”
Ethan gave a quick nod of approval, setting his sable locks bouncing about his little head. “You will stay and drink yourcough-eewhile I play UncleBar-clee?”
She dropped her hand, inclining her head graciously. “Of course.”
Rising, Jane took the seat near to Barclay, who now noticed the tray laid out on the table between them as he rose to his feet. She poured out a cup of coffee, just as the boy had suggested. As Barclay took his seat to play with his nephew, he noted her pour cream and stir sugar into the cup.
He had never seen a woman drink the beverage before, especially not a refined young woman. He wondered if she knew of the potential troubles related to drinking coffee before being distracted by his nephew’s instructions to prepare the chessboard for their game.
* * *
Jane was finishingher last sip of coffee, for all appearances watching the chess match between Ethan and his uncle. Surreptitiously, she was using it as an opportunity to observe the gentleman up close.
He was a splendid specimen of manhood. Slim, long-limbed, with olive skin inherited from his mother. His hair was a mane of black waves that brushed his broad shoulders. A close-cropped beard suited his strong but narrow face. Once again, he wore a black tailcoat, which Jane had come to realize was probably a sign of his extended mourning and the deep regard he held for his departed love.
The man needed a wife, which was clear from both the conversation of the night before and his hair, just a little too long. She yearned to brush it back from his cheek.
And he did everything with sincere attention. Even now, matched against the four-year-old Ethan, he paid every attention to the game, deliberating his moves while his nephew squirmed in his chair.
“There you are, Ethan!” The earl walked in and made his way to the board. “I see you started chess early today?”
The boy tilted his head back quite far to look up at his father. “I found Jane, and she wanted to play.”
Richard chuckled. “She wanted to play, or you made her?”
The lad’s face broke into a huge grin. “I made her.”
“Well, all I can say is it is a pity you are busy, because I was going to teach you to play cricket this afternoon.”
Ethan stood up in riveted surprise. “Cricket?”
“Have you played?”
“No! Oliver and Max play with the local boys, and Jane and Emma have played with them.” Jane smiled at Ethan’s mention of her younger brothers, who would wheedle her into playing when they were short of boys for their teams. In a dejected voice, he lamented, “But I was too small to hold a bat.”
“Hmm … if only there was a bat small enough for a little boy to learn cricket at Saunton Park?” The earl lifted his arm to reveal what he had carried behind his back. It was a miniature bat—a shortened blade of wood, with a cloth-wrapped cylindrical handle and a thick edge. The earl pulled a leather-seamed ball from his pocket with the other hand.
