by Gayle Callen
He continued to smile, obviously unoffended. “That is true.”
“It is seldom the queen grants a new title. Why did you receive it?”
“Because I helped her over a puddle.”
She eyed him with disappointment. So much for telling her anything.
“It is true, Jane. Without me, Her Majesty would have been quite up to her knees in mud. I risked damage to my own garments for her.”
“Did she knight you for that, too? And you are to call me Miss Whittington.”
“After that kiss—”
“We are not to discuss your reprehensible behavior.”
“Reprehensible? I don’t think you’ll say that after our wedding night—if we can even wait that long.”
He reached out to finger her skirt, and she slapped his hand away.
“Lord Chadwick! Please let us keep our discussion to the topic I brought up.”
“Very well. You wish to know why I was made a baron.”
Will watched the determined look on her face, her skepticism over how truthful his words would be. And after last night’s intimacy and the knowledge that he would be deceiving her because of Nick, he realized he didn’t have the heart to tell her another lie.
“My family has been in Yorkshire for many generations, and over the years we’ve been the nearest thing to peers in our parish. The estate is vast, and the holdings numerous. Perhaps the queen wanted me in the House of Lords. Those are things that certainly fit into the equation. There is one other thing about which I’m not permitted to speak, a favor I did the queen, shall we say.”
She looked thoughtful, and he allowed himself to relax. He looked at her hands, folded loosely in her lap, well covered in gloves, and remembered the tentativeness with which they’d touched him.
“You spoke of things fitting an equation,” Jane said. “My lord, certainly you know that that is a mathematical reference. Don’t numbers bore you?”
“And who told you that?” he asked, relieved to find that she was teasing him, though she might not recognize it herself.
“I accidentally overheard you.”
When she looked away, he saw the blush staining her cheeks. He found himself leaning nearer, tantalizing himself with her scent.
Close to her ear, he whispered, “Things aren’t always as they seem.”
Even as the words escaped him, he knew they were a mistake.
She turned to face him and was so near that he was able to read the triumph in her eyes, quickly replaced by alarm.
“My lord, please keep to your own side of the carriage.”
“Shall I draw a line down the center?”
But he sat back as he said it, and her shoulders relaxed.
“I’ve asked before—do you fear me, Jane?”
“It is not you I fear,” she admitted reluctantly.
“Then you fear yourself.”
She actually groaned. “This is not a topic of discussion, William.”
“Aha!” he said with triumph, even as she amended his name to, “Lord Chadwick.”
She fixed him with her cool eyes, so green and challenging. “My lord, are you saying that you are not as you appear?”
“I most certainly am not. But you cannot take seriously what I might say to other gentlemen in order to escape a boring game of cards.”
“They said you won.”
“Handily. I always do. That’s what makes it boring. Don’t you feel that way at times?”
She parted her lips, hesitated, then nodded.
“And you are so clever, Jane, that I imagine many things bore you. So you study languages.”
“And other things.”
“Mathematics?”
She didn’t answer.
“I find intelligence in a woman fascinating,” he murmured, reaching for her hand and kissing her fingertips before she could pull away. “As long as she can be a proper wife.”
By her expression, he’d made another mistake, and he felt uneasy at her reluctance to discuss their marriage—especially her part in it. Hadn’t their encounter last night proved to her that they belonged together?
Jane regarded him thoughtfully. “And what do you consider the characteristics of a proper wife?”
“Intelligence, of course,” he said, smiling at her, using every bit of charm he could muster.
She did not smile back.
“The ability to keep a well-run home, and to raise happy children. The ability to discuss anything with your husband. To entertain as befits a baroness.”
“I was wondering when you’d get to that,” she said frostily.
“I expect the same things of myself, sweet Jane. I anticipate endless hours by your side with our children.”
When she said nothing, he leaned closer, and she froze. “And of course, conceiving them is the most pleasurable of all.”
With admirable boldness she faced him, and he looked at her lips, so plump and inviting.
“I would not know,” she said stiffly. “But of course, such ignorance is also what you require of a wife.”
“Only ignorance of other men, my sweet.” He was so close that he thought he could see her tremble. “I would show you anything you asked right now.”
She faintly smiled. “Then I wish to view the castle, my lord.”
She gave him a little push and he sat back, not wanting to frighten her away. Killer issued a sharp, jealous bark.
The roof of the castle was long gone, and the remains of the walls rose in jagged peaks to the sky. The eeriness of the scene called to Jane, and she touched the old stones reverently, wondering how many hundreds of years ago it had been built. After following her about for a while, Lord Chadwick seemed restless, and when he excused himself to go sit outside, she was glad for the respite. She could barely look at him without trying to imagine the exact way one conceived a baby.
Why did such ancient places call to her, she wondered, trailing her hand across the stones of a broken parapet. With this view, she could see across the vast plains of England. In her imagination, the countryside could not have been so very different five centuries ago, but men and women had been. Surely women had had even less freedom.
But something about a knight protecting his people, his castle—his woman—called to her. He was a king unto himself, and a wife ruled at his side, in charge whenever he was away. A woman had to understand every facet of a medieval estate, not just the household and its servants.
Would a knight have treated his wife as an equal? After all, she would have been so much more to him than a pretty decoration in his household and on his arm.
When she felt she could delay no longer, Jane strolled back outside, where a grassy meadow stretched down the hillside. At its base nestled a little stone village on the banks of a brook.
She watched in stunned surprise as Lord Chadwick played a game of cricket with a group of local children. Killer pranced among them, barking and yipping and darting away from curious hands. Jane sat on the blanket he’d spread and for the first time felt a lump of emotion in her throat at the thought of children—her own children running about her.
Watching Lord Chadwick at play drew her almost as much as his passionate kisses. He had not lied when he’d said he wanted to share in the task of raising children.
Once, he laughingly ran toward her, and she caught her breath at how handsome he looked. What would she do if he tried to touch her? But all he did was throw his coat and cravat onto the blanket and run off again with his shirtsleeves exposed. She tried to imagine another proper man of her acquaintance doing such a thing, but she couldn’t. She watched his wavy hair blowing in the breeze and realized that since they’d left London, he’d given up slicking it back with macassar oil, as was the fashion. She just didn’t understand him.
Mortified by her own scandalous thoughts, she walked back the short distance to the carriage to retrieve a book. She found Mr. Barlow napping inside, although he did wake long enough to nod at her before his head dro
oped again. When she closed the carriage door, she saw Lord Chadwick standing still, watching her. Then, as if satisfied, he went back to the children.
What did he think she’d do—leave?
When she returned to the blanket, she found Killer curled up in the exact place she’d been sitting, looking triumphant even with his floppy hair hanging in his eyes. Though the blanket was big enough for both of them, Jane had had enough.
“Please move, Killer.”
The dog’s ears twitched, but that was all.
“I said move.” This time she pointed to another part of the blanket. “Go on.”
He dropped his chin on his paws, still watching her. She reached for him, and he darted away rather than allow himself to be touched by his enemy. Jane triumphantly sat down in her original spot. With a grumbled growl, Killer curled up on a corner of the blanket as far away from her as possible.
Then Jane suddenly saw herself as if she was looking from a great distance. What was she doing—proving her superiority over a dog? Sitting here like a good little girl as if all of society were still watching her? She didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.
She threw the book down and stood up. She unpinned her hat, tossed it onto the blanket, then strode off down the hillside toward the cricket game. She knew how to play, though it had been years since her girlhood exploits in Yorkshire. She almost hoped Lord Chadwick would try to stop her.
He stood openmouthed as she joined the opposite team, but she simply lifted her chin and dared him to say something. He didn’t, although he no longer looked so comfortable.
Jane spent an hour running and laughing. She didn’t get too many hits with the bat, but she was decent at throwing the ball. When she was finally hot and sweaty and breathless, she bowed out of the game. She had to walk by Lord Chadwick to get to the blanket, and he watched her with a strange look on his face. He pushed his damp hair back and wiped his forearm across his forehead, never taking his eyes off her the closer she came. She swung her arms and strode briskly rather than sedately. He gave her a crooked grin as his gaze wandered down her body. She was disheveled and dusty, but she knew he wasn’t thinking of the state of her garments. They were both remembering the heat of their kiss.
Uneasy, she sat down on the blanket and distracted herself reading and studying until a shadow fell across her book. Using her hat to shield her eyes, she looked up to find Lord Chadwick standing over her, his fists on his hips.
“You’re blocking my light,” she said, trying to hide how strange it felt to have him standing above her, his thighs too near. Surely his trousers didn’t have to be so tight that she could see his leg muscles.
She was suddenly overheated by where she was staring and wished she could splash cold water on her face.
“So sorry,” he said. “The game was more enjoyable when you were playing.”
And then he made her feel even stranger when he stretched out at her side, unfolding his long body, propping his head on his hand. Killer gave an angry yip as he found himself pushed off the blanket. He curled up behind Lord Chadwick’s knees.
“What are you reading?” he asked. “You’re moving your lips.”
“I’m studying Italian,” she said coolly.
“Such a romantic language.”
“And how would you know that?”
“I overheard two sailors unloading their ship.”
“Two sailors—how romantic.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. To her surprise, he reddened.
“Why Jane Whittington, you’re teasing me.”
“I am not. I’m stating a simple opinion that you thought two sailors talking Italian were romantic.”
“No,” he said rather more forcefully than she thought necessary. “I said the language was romantic. Oh, never mind.” He reached behind him to pet his dog.
“And now you’re sulking.”
“Little boys sulk. Grown men just get moody. At least that’s what my mother used to say.”
She closed her book and stared at him. “Really? Why would she say that about you?”
“It wasn’t about me, but my father. And she laughed when she said it.” He was wearing a smile now, and his eyes seemed to be seeing something in a distant memory.
“And was your father angry?”
“He laughed too. And then he chased her up the stairs until I couldn’t see them anymore.”
“Oh.” Jane thought she’d blushed more in the last few days than she had in her whole life.
“They were like that. And I was a boy, so I didn’t understand and thought they were just silly.”
“It sounds wonderful,” she said softly, thinking of the arguments she’d overheard the rare times her parents had been in the same house. “You must have been very happy.”
“Sadly, I didn’t know it at the time. I only wanted to escape.”
“Little boys think like that.”
“Not little girls?” he asked, watching her too closely.
“Little girls are more practical.”
“I can see that by the Italian you’re studying,” he said doubtfully.
“I like to educate myself. Surely that is practical.”
“Say something in Italian.”
He rolled onto his back, forcing Killer to snuggle against his waist. Folding his arms beneath his head, he just watched her.
In Italian, she said, “You are impossible.”
“What did you say?”
“The sky is blue.”
He sat up, and it took all her effort not to move away from him.
“Is that really what you said? Now don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
But her voice was trembling—she was trembling. His gaze was no longer on her face but had lazily drifted lower.
Softly, he said, “I noticed you’re not wearing a corset today.”
She barely resisted the urge to cover her chest, as if he could see beneath her dress and chemise.
Before she could manage speech, he continued, “I noticed immediately, of course. You simply move more freely—especially when you run. When you lean over, the blood doesn’t rush into your face.”
“If my face is red,” she said in a low voice, “it is out of embarrassment at your appallingly bad manners.”
He put his hand on her waist. “This even feels much better.”
“Remove your hand at once! There are children watching us.”
“The children are from the nearby village and come from families who don’t think less of almost-married people for showing affection.”
He slid his hand up her back and pulled her a little closer. She couldn’t even gasp her affront, because she was barely breathing as it was. In her mind she was seeing flashes of his kiss in the candlelit darkness of her room, and the image was no less erotic under the bright sunshine.
His lips touched hers gently, differently than the previous night. Soft, moist kisses on her mouth, the corner of her lips, her cheek. He smelled like heat and summer, and she found her eyes closing as she savored the gentle assault.
And then they heard childish giggles. Lord Chadwick glanced up at his new friends, then with a quick kiss to her nose, he took off running again, leaving Jane baffled and disappointed and full of a new, frightening longing for him, this man she didn’t want to marry.
Chapter 11
With his eyes half-closed, Will watched Jane as she stared out the carriage window. The roads they traveled through the flat countryside toward Langley Manor were rougher today, making her lovely breasts bounce. That was the first thing he’d noticed about her that morning, and he’d spent the day wishing he could cup a handful of each. Of course he wouldn’t be able to stop there.
But since he’d kissed her that afternoon near the castle ruins, there was a fragility to her that unsettled him. It was her fault that she’d put temptation in his path. He hadn’t wanted to explore a castle and had only allowed it because he now knew that Sam was the one follo
wing them. Between the two ex-soldiers, they should be able to keep Jane safe.
And then she’d forced him to talk about his parents, and for once the guilt hadn’t overwhelmed him. How could she make him say things he hadn’t wanted to?
She was intelligent, his future wife. He couldn’t help but admire a woman who studied subjects a wife didn’t need. He actually enjoyed talking to her. He hadn’t wanted such things from a wife, but he was determined to overcome the worries her restlessness caused him. She was a spirited woman, and that was all.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said.
Jane gave a little jump at the sound of his voice, then eyed him with obvious hesitation.
“We’re going to catch our own dinner tonight.”
“Catch?” Her nose wrinkled with distaste.
“I have fishing equipment stowed beneath the bench you’re sitting on.”
“Oh.” Her frown smoothed a bit. “But won’t the delay—”
“Surely your father would want us to eat several times a day. And I am an expert with a fishing rod, so you will be eating within an hour. And of course, you’ll want to study and learn a new skill.”
When she only gazed at him, eyes narrowed, he gave a sharp rap on the roof of the carriage to get Barlow’s attention. After a quick conference with the coachman and another half-hour’s drive, they reached a suitable stream, with a small copse of trees nearby for firewood.
As Jane allowed William to assist her from the carriage, she tried to picture him with a smelly, wriggly fish in his hand. Contrary to his smug assumption, she had indeed fished as a girl at Ellerton House in Yorkshire, and she understood what was involved.
But did he? As he brought forth the fishing equipment, she glanced at his fashionable garments, wondering what they’d be reduced to in another hour. But when he discarded his coat and waistcoat, her curiosity was at its peak. Would she ever understand him?
While the men dug for worms, they shared a quiet camaraderie that intrigued her. She took a deep breath of the pleasant, honeysuckle breeze, listened to the swaying of the trees, and tried to feel at peace. When William knelt on the bank and washed his hands in the stream, she put the worm on her hook and rather enjoyed his astonishment when he turned around. No, “enjoyed” was the wrong word: she was merely satisfied with his expression.
