Page 17

“And will you always be a governess?” he asked, before he could think of how obtuse he must sound.

Jane laughed. “I’m quite far into my spinsterhood, and I’m much too practical to hold out hope that anyone might marry me. Life in Lord Rawson’s home isn’t exactly conducive to romance.”

He hated the lightness with which she said that, as though she’d simply accepted it as her fate. A fate that had been decided for her when she was just seven years old. It was undeniably unfair that the mere chances of birth and death had landed her in this position.

“Of course, Mary has told me I can come live with her,” she added.

“She’s the countess, isn’t she? Why don’t you do that?” he asked.

“For the very same reason I imagine you don’t go around to your friends asking them if they can advance you the funds to reseed your fields and reroof the buildings.”

“Pride,” he said. It—along with responsibility—drove him and weighed on him every day.

“Besides, I’m not entirely sure—”

But he was never to know what she meant to say, because at that moment a thundering came up behind them. He whipped around in the saddle as a streak of black horse and a low, crouched rider in a cherry-red jacket blazed by. The rider tore between Jane and him, forcing Nicholas to pull up hard on his horse’s reins. A loud whinny split the air, but it wasn’t his gelding that had shrieked.

Jane’s horse, spooked by the careless sportsman, reared up and crashed its hooves back to the ground, bolting off the road and through a thicket of brambles to the open countryside.

“Jane!” he shouted, digging his horse’s flanks and taking off in fast pursuit.

He leaned in low to his horse’s neck, the blood pumping with urgency and fear. Even an experienced horsewoman would struggle to maintain control of a spooked beast, and Jane wasn’t experienced. He had to catch up to her and find some way to slow her mount before the animal threw her from its back or went lame and sent her tumbling over its neck.

He urged his horse on, gaining on her over open field. He could see that she was clinging to the reins, trying her best to slow the panicked animal, but it was no good. The horse was too far beyond the point of soothing.

Jane and her horse tore through an opening in a copse of trees that edged the field, and Nicholas prayed that she wouldn’t be swept off her mount by a low branch. He cleared the tree line moments after her, cursing as leaves whipped his face and neck. He had to get to her. He had to.

He was just a dozen feet behind her when Jane’s horse pulled up abruptly short of a small stream. Her head jerked back and he could tell that she was scrambling to hold on to her seat, but it was no use. She went top over tail off the animal’s back and landed hard on the ground.

“No!” he shouted, pulling up on his horse to stop as quickly as he could. He leapt down and sprinted over to where she lay sprawled out in the bracken.

“Jane!” He dropped to his knees and cupped her cheek in his hand. Her eyes were closed, but she was still breathing. “Jane!”

Her eyes fluttered open and focused on him. Relief washed through him. He smoothed a thumb over her cheek, his worry that she’d broken her neck ebbing away all while he still wondered about broken bones, twisted ankles, any little bump or bruise that might harm her.

“Jane, tell me what hurts.”

She blinked up at him. “Only my pride.” She winced. “My dignity might be a little sprained too.”

A raw laugh caught in his throat. She had no idea that he was ready to lie down at her feet if only she would promise never to scare him like that again.

Instead, Nicholas gathered her into his arms and pulled her into his lap so he could hold her close. She was warm and soft and—most important—alive. Her bonnet had fallen off at some point in the mad dash, and he buried his nose in her hair that had begun to escape its pins. She smelled sweet and warm, like cinnamon, and because just holding her wasn’t enough, he pressed a kiss to her hair. Her hand that had slipped up over his forearm when he’d hauled her into his lap tightened, but she didn’t pull back, and so he kissed her forehead. Then her temple and the soft slope of her cheek. Her jaw was next and then the little spot next to her mouth where a dimple tempted him every time she smiled. And then, because he was still half mad with fear, relief, and happiness, he kissed Jane’s slightly parted lips.

At last.

Jane’s entire body relaxed into the strength of Nicholas’s arms. At last he was kissing her, and at last she was finally able taste him.

Divine. That was the only word for it. It should have been the press of skin against skin, but it was so much more than that. The low swooping in her chest like a swallow looping and diving in the early evening sent her soaring. Her skin seemed to sparkle with sensation. Heat built between her legs. She could feel herself growing wet as he stroked the line of her corset from her hip and up under her breasts.

Nicholas teased her lips open a little more, outlining them with his tongue before slipping in to stroke over her own. He tasted sweet and cool, just as she somehow knew he would. But it wasn’t enough. She could tell he was restraining part of himself, so she tangled her hand in his hair and kissed him back hard until a low growl rumbled in his chest. Then he pulled her closer to him, shifting her on his lap so that she felt the hardness of his cock against her leg and heard him moan low.

Her arms gripped the hard muscle of his biceps. She wanted to be closer. They were far too dressed for a kiss like this. A simple tug was all it took to undo his neck cloth and slide her hand into the gap of his shirt.

She squirmed on his lap, shifting intentionally to hear him groan for her again. Instead, he pulled back just enough to pant, “Jane.”

“Yes?” she asked, breathless against his lips.

With one swift move he had her on her back, his body pressing her into the bracken that smelled fresh and clean as fallen rain.