Page 24

“I’ll sleep over here,” said Nicholas, pointing to the far end of the hayloft.

She nodded and carried her blankets a respectable distance away.

As she began to make up a bed for herself, he got the cord out of his bag and looked for a hook to string up a divider. She folded a blanket over and over again to make a pillow and tucked it at the end of a thick quilt that would protect her from the sharp ends of hay she’d lie on. They lacked the privacy of a room, and so she’d sleep in her corset that night—an uncomfortable prospect—but there was little she could do about it. At least she’d be able to slide off some of her petticoats and undo the ties of her crinoline behind one of the hay bales.

“Damn,” Nicholas muttered from the far end of the loft.

She looked up and saw him standing with the cord in one hand and the other end hooked to a beam. He was scowling at it as though it were the devil itself.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s too short.” He held up the cord and shook it. “By about ten feet.”

“Oh.”

He scrubbed a hand over his day-old beard and rocked back on his heels. “I’ll think of something. Maybe there’s another rope I can use.”

“Nicholas,” she called, stopping him as he was about to step foot on the top rung of the ladder. “Perhaps for this one night we can dispense with the battlements.”

“Jane—”

“I trust you,” she said.

He scrutinized her as though doubting the wisdom of that statement. “I know it seems we’ve known each other for an age, but it’s only been three days.”

Three days or three decades. It didn’t matter. She knew he was a gentleman to his core and he’d never compromise her. No. The only thing she had to fear in this barn was her own lust.

“I trust you,” she repeated. “Now, shouldn’t you make up your bed before the oil runs low on the lamp?”

He gave her a look that she couldn’t quite read, but he backed away from the ladder nonetheless. “All right, then.”

“Good,” she said, putting every ounce of her governess practicality into her tone. She’d always been able to fall back on the authority of it, and now she needed it more than ever.

They hardly looked at one another as they prepared for bed. She knew because she couldn’t stop her gaze from flicking over to him. When she was finally settled down, he bade her a cursory good night and then dimmed the lamp until they were cast into darkness.

But Jane couldn’t sleep. For all of her tiredness, her entire body was alight with the knowledge that he slept so close. Even worse, she couldn’t stop reliving their kiss—his body over hers, the concern in his voice that transformed into relief when he realized she wasn’t broken, the skim of his lips against her forehead, her cheek, her lips just to make sure. She ached for the solid strength of his hands against her waist, tempting her to push her body against his because he hadn’t touched the swell of her breasts and eased the need that tightened inside her like a coiled spring.

It wasn’t fair. He lay just a few feet away, his breath already steady and regular, while she pressed her legs together to try to dull the throbs of her body for him. She didn’t dare touch herself to find relief—not when there wasn’t a curtain to shield her movements in the dark. Even if she could get up the courage to slide her hand between her legs with him so close by again, it wouldn’t be enough.

Courage. The thought sat on her chest like a weight. She’d never thought of herself as a courageous woman—being bold wasn’t wise when it came to governessing—but Nicholas had called her that, hadn’t he?

Seeing herself through his eyes, she supposed that she was a bit brave. She’d negotiated her way onto this journey and demanded that this strange man take her along because she had more important things to worry about than propriety. It was the sort of daring thing that her friend Mary might do—or even Elizabeth, with her quiet but stubborn determination—and yet Jane was the one on this adventure. She’d ridden through rain and mud and cold. She’d refused to accept that all was lost.

She was brave. She could have thrown her hands up and given up on Lady Margaret, but motivated by loyalty, she’d gotten onto a horse and ridden miles—days even. Jane had made the decision to break and bend her own rules. She was the one in control of her fate.

All at once, she felt as though she could do anything. She could ask for anything. She could demand all that she wanted and she knew would never be—except that in this isolated little barn on this isolated little farm nothing else mattered. Not her position or Lady Margaret or his sisters’ reputations. So why didn’t she ask for the very thing she desired?

Jane hesitated only a moment before pushing the well-worn quilt off her. She’d removed her stockings when she’d gone to bed, not waiting to rip them on stray strands of hay. The warmth of the wooden floor felt almost sensual as she padded across the loft.

Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could make out Nicholas’s form. He was lying on his back, his chest rising and falling with the steady breath of sleep. He didn’t stir as she approached.

“Nicholas,” she murmured.

He didn’t move as she sank down to her knees next to his makeshift pallet, and so she reached out and skimmed one fingertip over the sweep of his stubble-roughened jaw.

She could kiss him again. She could wake him up and demand that he show her all of the things he could do to relieve the tension in her body. She could imagine for just one night what her life could have been if only fate had been a little kinder. She could give full flight to the dream that she might have a man by her side who cared enough to give her pleasure, to stay with her, to love her.

She’d come this far. If he woke and cast her off him, she’d have her answer and he’d be too noble to mention it again. But there was the chance that he’d kiss her back, and that was enough.