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“It is your decision,” she replied quietly, “but know that I am … that is … I would … like to try.”

Barclay lifted one of his large hands, the hands she had imagined countless times in her dreams, and ran his calloused fingertips gently down her cheek, as if she were made of the finest porcelain. “I must leave you now before I do something I will regret.”

Barclay stepped back, his expression taut with restraint, and then turned to leave the room. Jane stood still, the warmth of his touch still lingering on her skin, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to catch her breath. She stared after him long after he disappeared, her fingers touching her lips as if to hold the memory in place, wondering what would happen next.

* * *

Barclay woke, surprised at how well he had slept after the interlude in the library. He blinked up at the ceiling, its ornate moldings softened by the pale light of dawn filtering through the heavy curtains. Memories of last night drifted back with startling clarity. Her scent still seemed to cling to him, light and fresh, mingled with the memory of strawberries and almonds.

He closed his eyes, recalling the delicate constellation of freckles where her neck sloped down to meet her shoulder—each mark a tiny blessing on her pale skin. Their kiss had revealed the delight that her very essence was infused with a trace of strawberries. It was as if summer itself had caressed her and left its fragrance behind.

Barclay exhaled, running a hand over his face. He was still uncertain what was right, but he could not shake the compelling need to see her again. To feel that rush of vitality, that spark of joy that had been missing since Natalya’s departure. It was as if Jane had unlocked something within him—something that had long been dormant. Perhaps his desire to spend time in her company was overriding his good sense, but he could not think of a single reason why he should not seek her out.

What harm could it possibly do?

Inhaling deeply, he assured himself that he was not too old for her—not by society’s standards, at least. And they seemed well-matched intellectually, with shared interests and pursuits that set her apart from the ladies of the ton with their simpering smiles and empty conversations. Jane was different. She thought, she reasoned, and she expressed herself with a candor that was both refreshing and disarming.

And now that the Earl of Saunton had acknowledged him, surely the Thompsons’ standing would be improved once society learned of it? Saunton had even suggested hosting a dinner to introduce Aurora and Barclay to well-placed members of society, pledging his support to the endeavor. The duke’s endorsement would lend weight, smoothing the path for his family to enter circles they might have otherwise found closed. A rise in status might mean no diminishing of Jane’s own in the event that their relationship progressed to its natural outcome.

The notion stirred something within him—an unfamiliar flicker of hope. Perhaps …

He pondered the idea of spending time with Jane today, imagining the possibility of discovering more of what lay beneath her poised exterior. She had already expressed an openness to courtship, so why should he not explore it? He could not be expected to make such a decision without properly understanding her character, could he? It seemed only logical that they should come to know each other better—to test the boundaries of compatibility.

Barclay stretched, the tension in his muscles easing as he rose from the bed. Sunlight streamed through the crack in the drapes, casting warm streaks of light across the polished wood floor. He thought of how he might discreetly arrange to be with her—some opportunity for conversation and connection without revealing their mutual attraction. He longed for an activity that would not lead to firm expectations but would allow them to learn more about each other, to discover if theirs might be an advisable partnership.

He knew he did not wish to participate in the typical activities arranged for guests, which seemed a bit too public for his liking. No, he would need to find something away from prying eyes, away from the gossip and inquisitiveness of those with too much interest and too little discretion.

A thought flitted through his mind. Would Tatiana be sufficient as a chaperone? They were vaguely related, after all, and these matters tended to be more relaxed in the country. His lips quirked in a half-smile. How fortunate it would be if Tatiana's presence smoothed the way for his time with Jane. But he would need to be certain. Whom could he ask without revealing the true motivation for his question?

His mind wandered to Lady Saunton. Would she find the inquiry odd? Or would her sharp eyes perceive the truth? He needed to tread carefully. The countryside had ears—whispers carried faster than a winter chill, and any misstep could place Jane in a compromising light. He would find a way. He must.

* * *

Jane woke at her usual hour, sunlight just beginning to creep through the lace curtains of her bedchamber. The kiss she had shared with Barclay had done nothing to restore her former ability to rest peacefully. She had lain awake until dawn, her mind replaying the touch of his lips on hers, the warmth of his breath, and the feel of his strong body pressed against hers. Each memory was vivid, imprinted on her senses as if it had only just happened.

She sighed deeply, her gaze drifting to the window where the first blush of morning light touched the horizon. What would happen now that he had revealed his esteem? Would he pretend it had not happened when she saw him next? Retreat from the unmistakable spark between them? Or would he acknowledge their growing affinity, even in the light of day?

It was unclear, based on his final words before departing the library. His expression had been conflicted, as if he were holding back a tide of emotion.

Groaning softly, she rolled out of bed, her feet touching the cool surface of the floorboards. Best to dress quickly, she thought. The sooner she readied herself, the sooner she could find her tray of coffee waiting for her in the library—a small comfort in the chaos of her thoughts.

An hour later, she took her usual seat in the library, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the room as she poured herself a cup. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting warm patterns on the polished wood floor. In the corner, Ethan and Richard were engaged in an early game of chess. The earl’s green eyes glinted with concentration, mirroring his son’s own emerald gaze as they both bent over the board, studying each move with fierce determination.

“Checkmate.”

“No, Papa! How did you do it?”

Richard grinned, leaning back with evident satisfaction. “I retreated to draw you in, and you followed, thinking I was defending myself.”

Ethan frowned at the pieces, his eyes narrowing in thought. His hand drifted to his collar, tugging at it absently—a perfect imitation of what Jane had often seen the earl do during moments of stress. Richard, his expression bright with the thrill of victory, began to move the pieces back, demonstrating the final sequence of moves.

“Papa, Daisy told me we have a gra-ta in the woods?”

Ethan blinked, his brows lifting. “You mean the grotto?”

“Yes. She said she heard it was very boo-tee-fill, but she does not know where it is. Could you take me there?”

The earl’s face softened, then fell with regret. “I wish I could, but I have meetings with my steward and tenants today.”