Page 35 of Sleepless in Saunton
Jane wrote furiously,her quill racing across the page. She had to stop and sharpen it, dipping it in ink, and frustrated at the interruption. She needed to get the lines out of her head before her thoughts evaporated into the dimmed room.
Bending over her notebook, she scribbled the verse, her inspiration inking the page.
The afternoon had been an utter delight. The time with Barclay, having him show her the magic of the grotto, existing in a bubble of time and space far from any civilization, had been a revelation.
She was uncertain where matters stood. Barclay had stated no intentions yet, but she hoped … she hoped their relationship would progress.
There had never been such an attraction with any gentleman of her acquaintance, and her heart was in jeopardy of falling head over heels before she knew what this was … where it might lead.
Could Barclay be her Darcy?
Jane could now understand the troubles Emma had faced during her strange courtship with Perry. She had encouraged her sister to pursue the relationship, but Emma had balked. Now that Jane’s affections were engaged, she knew what it was to want a man, yearn for him, but yet be uncertain of her reception.
Barclay had raised issues with a potential courtship. Their difference in age, and his lamentable status within society as a by-blow. She wanted to brush them aside and leap into his arms, but Emma had pointed out that marriage was a commitment that could not be undone and advised her to be cautious.
Jane now acknowledged that Emma’s advice was true. She could not simply race headfirst, not knowing the gentleman’s thoughts on the matter.
As she finished the last line with a flourish, she heard footsteps behind her.
“Do you have new verses to read to me?” Barclay’s husky voice was low, intimate, causing a shiver of desire to chase over the surface of her skin to settle low in her belly.
“These are private verses,” she whispered back, surprised how coy she sounded in the silence of the library.
“This is a private moment,” he responded. He had come up behind her, leaning over the back of her chair to whisper in response and placing a fleeting kiss to the shell of her ear that he had just warmed with his breath. Jane closed her eyes at the exquisite tension of their shared moment, disappointed when he withdrew to walk around and take the opposite seat. Her heart lifted once more at the warm affection reflected in his eyes.
“I admit I was quite inspired … by our visit to the grotto.” She hurried to add the last, biting her lip in a wave of shyness. In all the years that men had displayed their regard for her, gathering around her at social events, Jane had never met one who intrigued her as much as Barclay.
Perry certainly had his charms, but it was clear from the very first moment that Emma was the one he had desired, and Jane had experienced no envy over the matter. She and Perry did not enjoy the meeting of the minds that he did with her sister.
A slow smile spread across Barclay’s face in response, the electricity between them sparking in the same manner as rubbing wool made one’s hair crackle and stand on end. Even now, her hair fairly crackled from the heat of their shared gazes.
Barclay was … different from other prospective suitors. He seemed more intrigued by her as a person than he was by her appearance. Jane knew she was considered lovely by other people—gentlemen had made no secret of it. She was tall and willowy. Her hair was a wave of silky, ebony curls, and she had high cheekbones and symmetrical features which one could easily compare with portraits of English beauties. She had a fashion sense and a way with colors—taking care of her physical form something of a pastime.
But with Barclay, she was aware of something else. Something new.
Jane had become aware of herself as a person. An individual. Barclay had listened to her verse with such intensity, and when he had spoken, Jane had for the first time seen herself as an intellectual. An artist. Someone who composed lines to communicate the marvel of what she saw in the world—in others—and she discovered that another person thought she had meaningful observations to impart.
She knew this was a meeting of the minds of which Emma had spoken before her departure from Saunton Park. An indefinable kinship that somehow their thoughts were synchronized, and that they found more joy in the world when sharing each other’s company.
Or, at least, she hoped he was sharing the sentiment and it was not wishful or youthful infatuation on her side.
Yet … his presence in the library for the third night suggested he felt it, too.
“What do you compose tonight?” He glanced down at the quill in her hand. Jane realized she had been frozen in motion since she had heard his step behind her.
“I was inspired by the statue of Hades. That such a hard and intimidating god should be so obsessed with a beautiful woman that he abducts her to his dark lair. I like to think he tricked her into eating the pomegranate seeds because he could not … not do it. That perhaps he truly loved her so much that he could not bear the thought of a future without her so granted her freedom while ensuring he could remain a part of her life.”
Barclay huffed slightly. “That is a romantic view of the story, and I admit there are aspects of him for which I have empathy. His world is dark, and he is surrounded by the dead. She must have represented the very light and life which he was no longer part of. But I admit I have a difficulty when I recollect that it is the late earl who commissioned the work, considering the misdeeds which must have inspired him for such an odd choice of subject … That, and the fact that Hades was Persephone’s uncle.”
Jane chuckled. “Yes, that he was her uncle engenders”—she sought for an appropriate word—“repulsion. I refrained from including that in my thoughts when I wrote these lines. A story can be viewed from many angles by the emphasis one places, and I chose to emphasize the love for tonight.”
“That is insightful to consider.”
Again, she was struck by how Barclay talked to her with sincere interest in her thoughts. She felt mature in his presence—a woman with valuable thoughts and opinions.
Barclay brought his hands up on the table to stare down at them. Jane was riveted. She had been fascinated by those large palms and long blunt fingers since she had first seen them. She remembered the brush of his calloused fingertips the evening before and repressed the shiver of hot desire. The feel of his lips on hers still played through her mind at the oddest moments.
“I would …”
