Chapter 4
The gardens were covered with snow, the fountains empty and silent, but they suited Jane’s mood. She ought to be in the house entertaining guests, or helping her mother, or looking after Grandfather, but she could not behave as though nothing had shaken her life to its foundations.
She should be glad John was home, feel tender happiness as the reward for waiting for his return.
All she could think of was Spencer Ingram’s gray eyes sparkling in the firelight after he’d kissed her. Could think only of the heat of his lips on hers, the fiery touch of his tongue. It was as though John Barnett did not exist.
Was she so fickle? So featherheaded that the moment another man crossed her path, she eagerly turned to follow him?
Or was there more than that? John had more or less ignored her since he’d arrived. Instead of resenting his indifference, Jane had been relieved.
Relieved. What was the matter with her?
A pair of statues at the far end of the garden marked the edge of her father’s park. Both statues were of Hercules—the one the right battling the Nemean lion; on the left, the hydra. Beyond these guardians lay pastureland rolling to far hills, today covered with a few inches of snow.
Jane contemplated the uneven land beyond the statues and reluctantly turned to tramp back.
A man in a blue uniform with greatcoat and black boots strode around the fountains and empty flower beds toward her. He was alone, and his trajectory would make him intersect Jane’s path. No one else wandered the garden, few bold enough to risk the ice-cold January morning.
Running would look foolish, not to mention Jane had nowhere to go. The fields, cut by a frozen brook, offered hazardous footing. Plus she was cold and ready to return to the house. Why should she flee her own father’s garden?
Jane continued resolutely toward Captain Ingram, nodding at him as they neared each other. “Good morning,” she said neutrally.
“Good morning,” he echoed, halting before her. “Is it good?”
Jane curled her fingers inside her fur muff. “The weather is fair, the sun shining. The guests are enjoying themselves. The New Year’s holiday is always pleasant.”
Ingram’s eyes narrowed. “Pleasant. Enjoying themselves.” His voice held a bite of anger. “What about you, Lady Jane? Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Of course. I like to see everyone home. If my brother and his wife could come, that would be even more splendid.”
“Liar.”
Jane started, her heart beating faster, but she kept her tone light. “I beg your pardon? I truly do long to see my brother.”
“You are miserable and cannot wait for the morning Major Barnett and I ride away.”
Jane lost her forced smile. “You are rude.”
“I am. Many say this of me. But I am a plain speaker and truthful.” His gray eyes glinted as he fixed an unrelenting gaze on her. “Tell me why the devil you are tying yourself to Barnett.”
Why? There was every reason why—Jane simply had never thought the reasons through. “I have known him a very long time …”
Spencer stepped closer to her. “If you were madly in love with him, you’d have slapped me silly when I tried to kiss you, last night. Instead you joined me.”
Jane rested her muff against her chest, as though it would shield her. “Are you casting my folly up to me? Not very gentlemanly of you.”
To her surprise, Spencer smiled, his anger transforming to heat. It was a feral smile, the fierceness in his eyes making her tremble.
“I am the fool for kissing you,” he said in a hard voice. “I couldn’t help myself. I think no less of you for kissing me back. In fact, I have been rejoicing all night and morning that you did. Haven’t slept a bloody wink.”
Jane swallowed. “Neither have I, as a matter of fact.”
“Then you give me hope. Much hope.”
He took another step to her, and Jane feared he would kiss her again.
Feared? Or desired it?
She pulled back, but not because he frightened her. She stepped away because she wanted very much to kiss him, properly this time. She’d fling her arms around him and drag him close, enjoying the warmth of him against her.
She touched the muff to her lips, the fur tickling.
Spencer laughed. “You are beautiful, Lady Jane. And enchanting. A wild spirit barely tamed by a respectable dress and winter coat.”
“Hardly a wild spirit.” Jane moved the muff to speak. “I embroider—not well, I admit—paint watercolors rather better, and help my mother keep house.”
“Your grandfather told me stories of himself and your grandmother last night. You are much like her.”
Jane wanted to think so. Maggie MacDonald, what Jane remembered of her, had been a laughing, happy woman, given to telling frightening stories of ghosts that haunted the Highlands or playing games with her grandchildren. She also loved to dance. Jane had a memory of her donning a man’s kilt and performing a sword dance as gracefully and adeptly as any warrior. Grandfather had watched her with love in his eyes.
“She was a grand woman,” Jane said softly. “I can’t begin to compare to her.”
“She is in your blood.” Spencer took another step, pushing the muff downward. “I saw that when we were at the fire. You were free, happy. I will stand here until you admit it.”
“I was.” Jane could not lie, even to herself. “Last night, I was happy.”
“But this morning, you have convinced yourself you must be this other Jane. Dutiful. Tethered. Unhappy.”
Jane ducked from him and started toward the statues at the end of the garden. She had no idea why she did not rush to the house instead—Hercules was far too busy with his own struggles to help her.
Unhappy. Yes, she was. But that was hardly his business.
She heard Spencer’s boots on the snow-covered gravel behind her and swung to face him. “Why do you follow me, sir? If I am miserable, perhaps I wish to console myself in solitude.”
“Because I want to be with you.” Spencer halted a foot from her. “There, I have declared myself. I want to be with you, and no other. I do not care one whit that you and Barnett have an understanding. He is not in love with you—I can see that. Such news might hurt you, but you must know the truth.”
It did hurt. Jane had grown complacent about her friendship with John, pleased she could live without worry for her future, thankful she had no need to chase gentlemen during her Season and could simply enjoy London’s many entertainments. She assisted other ladies to find husbands instead of considering them rivals.
Spencer’s arrival had shattered her complacency, and now its shards lay around her.
She fought to maintain her composure. “Are you suggesting I throw over Major Barnett and declare myself for you?”
“Nothing would make me happier.”
Spencer leaned close, and again, Jane thought he’d kiss her. Anything sensible spun out of her head as she anticipated the brush of his lips, the warmth of his touch. He came closer still, his gaze darting to her mouth, his chest rising sharply. Jane’s very breath hurt.
When he straightened, disappointment slapped her.
“Nothing would make me happier,” Spencer repeated. “But I’m not a blackguard. If you have no regard for me, if you cannot imagine yourself loving me, then I will not press you. I won’t press you at all. What I want, my dear lady, is your happiness. I know in my heart it does not lie for you with Major Barnett.”
Jane shook her head. “The world is convinced it does.”
“Then the world is a fool. I would be the happiest man alive if you chose me. But I won’t ask you to, won’t coerce you.” His dark brows came down. “I want you to be free, Jane. Free to choose. Go to London. Have your Season—laugh, dance, live. If you find a better man than I there, then I’ll … well, I’ll sink into despondency for a long while, but that despondency will have a bright note. I’ll know you are happy. Find that man, and I will dance at your wedding. I promise.”
Her breath came fast. “You amaze me, sir.”
“Why?” Again a smile, bright and hot. “I admire you. I hate to see you pressed into a box, your nature stifled, all because of an ass like Major Barnett.”
Jane attempted a frown. “Should I throw off my friends the moment they displease me? Is this freedom?” Her voice shook, because in her heart, his words made her sing.
“You know Barnett has been displeasing you for years,” Spencer said. “Else you’d have looked happier to see him.”
Truth again. Was this man an oracle?
“How dare you?” Jane tried to draw herself up, but her question lacked conviction. Spencer unnerved her, turned her inside out, made her want to laugh and cry. “This is none of your affair, sir.”
She ought to threaten to call her father, have Captain Ingram ejected from the house, even arrested for accosting her. Or she could simply slap him, as he’d told her she should have done last night.
Spencer’s gaze held her, and Jane could do nothing.
“It is my affair because I care about you,” he said. “But I do not matter. You do. Please, Jane, be happy.”
Blast him. Before he’d arrived, Jane’s life had been tranquil. At ease. Now confusion pounded at her, and shame.
Because she knew good and well she hadn’t been tranquil at all. She’d been impatient, angry. Stifled, as he said.
Spencer’s eyes held anguish, rage, and need. Jane knew somehow that Spencer Ingram would always speak truth to her, whether she liked it or not.
And she knew she wanted to kiss him again.
The house was far away, and high yew hedges edged the path on which they stood. No one was about, not even a gardener taking a turn around the empty beds. Most of the servants had been given a holiday.
Jane took the last step toward Spencer. As he regarded her in both trepidation and simmering need, Jane wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
His lips were parted, his breath heating hers an instant before he hauled her against him, his answering kiss hard, savage.
The world melted away. All Jane knew was Spencer’s solid, strong body, his hands holding her steady, his mouth on hers.
He pulled her closer, the tall length of him hard against her softness. His lips opened hers, mouth seeking, whiskers scratching her cheek. He filled up everything empty inside her, and Jane learned warmth, joy, longing.
We never let anything stand in the way of us, Grandfather always said about himself and his beloved Maggie.
That was long ago, Jane would reason.
But this was now.
Jane abruptly broke the kiss. Spencer gazed at her, desire plain in his eyes. He traced her cheek, and her heart shattered.
Jane drew away from him, and ran. She snatched up the freedom he offered her and sprinted down the main path, her arms open, muff hanging from one hand, and let the cold air come.
“John, may I have a word?”
Jane was surprised she had breath left after her mad dash through the garden. She’d taken time to shed her outdoor things and compose herself before she sought John.
She found him in the library, book in hand, but he wasn’t reading. John gazed rather wistfully out the window to the park in front of the house, the book dangling idly.
When he heard Jane, he rose to his feet and pasted on a polite smile. “Good morning, Jane. Did you have a nice walk?”
Jane halted, her cheeks scalding. Had he seen the kiss? Or been told about it?
John’s face, however, held the bland curiosity of a man who had been thinking of everything but Jane, only recalled to her existence by her presence.
“The walk was agreeable,” Jane said hastily. She glanced behind her to make certain the few servants who’d agreed to stay and help today did not linger in the hall. She dared not close the door in case a guest insisted that Jane shut into a room with her old friend meant either her ruin or their engagement.
She had no idea how to begin, so she jumped to the point, bypassing politeness.
“John, I would take it kindly if you did not propose to me.”
John stared at her as though he didn’t understand her words, then his brows climbed, his mouth forming a half smile. “I beg your pardon?”
Jane balled her hands and plunged on. “Please do not propose marriage to me. It will be easier for both of us if I do not have to refuse you.”