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Barclay’s hand rose to rest over his heart, which chimed with sheer happiness. He had never thought to assist his mother in creating her own society, rather than suffer the continual rejection of judgmental biddies. It was perfect. His mother would realize her own dream on behalf of the parent who had stood by her side when she had erred. “I will help in any way I can. I know Tsar will be delighted to assist.”

Sophia spoke up from the seat she had taken near Richard, addressing the duchess. “Annabel, you and the duke are being so formal. I think it is time to relax the formalities.”

The duchess chuckled. “It is a force of habit, I am afraid. Please, call me by my Christian name,” she said to Barclay.

Halmesbury addressed Aurora from where he stood at the window. “Your agreement to direct the new home is very good news. It was imperative to find a woman with the right character to lead the project. Lady Lewis has a heart of gold and the skills to manage a household, which is why the home is a success. These days, she has a matron to assist her, but she still oversees the home. Miss Tho—” Sophia shot him a look, and the duke corrected himself. “—Aurora, you have the sensitivity to understand the children’s needs, which is precisely what we were searching for.”

Barclay was very pleased. His mother would fulfill her dreams to make a meaningful contribution. Aurora assisted charitable causes in London but had never acquired sufficient status to be entrusted with the type of role she had yearned for.

With the patronage of the duchess, along with the Thompsons’ collective knowledge, the home was sure to flourish. Aurora had been taking care of Tatiana these past two years, but now his daughter would rejoin him on his travels, which would leave his mother with little to do other than manage the Thompson household. A project of this magnitude was an excellent opportunity for her to pursue her passion.

He felt a light touch on his arm, looking down to find that Jane had joined him. “I will help, too, Aurora. Whenever we are in London.”

Barclay smiled down at her, lifting his other hand to rest it on hers.

Good heavens! He needed to spend some time alone with his betrothed. The mere hint of strawberries lingering in the air stirred something deep within him, a longing that tugged at his heart and left him yearning for some privacy.

* * *

Jane had seen Barclay’s lingering glances in the library. And later, when they sat together at dinner, she had observed it again—the warmth in his eyes, the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long. It sent a flutter through her veins, her heart quickening in response.

Which was why she was not entirely surprised to hear a gentle knock on her bedroom door around midnight. Barefoot, she hurried across the room to let him in.

Barclay stood framed by the doorway, the glow from the hallway casting his tall form in soft light. Since arriving at Rose Ash, he had allowed her to trim his hair, and the unruly waves were now tamed, accentuating his handsome features. He had removed his coat and vest, his linen shirt hanging loose over his breeches, the column of his throat exposed. His feet were bare like hers.

She met his eyes and saw them crinkle at the corners as he smiled down at her. There was a tenderness there that made her heart ache in the most delightful way.

Without a word, Jane reached out her hand, which he took with gentle firmness. His palms were roughened by work, warm and familiar. She pulled him inside and shut the door softly behind them, settling against his chest with a small laugh as his arms encircled her in a firm embrace. “I thought you would never come.”

His chuckle vibrated against her cheek. “I could not stay away any longer. Not if I tried.”

Jane tilted her head back, her gaze meeting his. His hands came up to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing softly over her cheekbones as if she were something precious. The look in his eyes was so reverent, so unguarded, that her breath caught.

Slowly, he leaned down, his mouth brushing hers with the lightness of a whisper, a question waiting to be answered. Jane answered with a soft sigh, pressing closer, and his lips settled more fully against hers. His touch was tender and unhurried, the kiss a gentle exploration that sent warmth blooming in her chest.

Barclay deepened the kiss slightly, his hand slipping to the nape of her neck, holding her there as if afraid she might drift away. His lips moved over hers with exquisite care, tasting and learning her, and she responded with shy enthusiasm, matching his gentle movements.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against hers, and he took a ragged breath, his eyes still closed. “You taste like strawberries again,” he murmured with a smile.

Jane giggled, her cheeks flushing. “I am back to making my strawberry water now that I am finally sleeping well.”

“Then you must never stop,” he replied, his voice hushed, almost reverent. His hand smoothed down her back, pulling her closer until not even a whisper could pass between them.

Jane rested her hands on his chest, marveling at the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms. She traced the lines of his shoulders, feeling the strength there, and marveled at how solid he was, how safe she felt. Her fingers moved back up, brushing against the crisp linen of his shirt, and she smiled up at him. “I have dreamed of this.”

He cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing her flushed skin. “So have I,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to her brow. “Every night since we left Saunton Park.”

Her heart thudded at the confession, and she rose on tiptoe to press another tender kiss to his lips. This time, there was no hesitation, no lingering question—only the soft joining of two souls finding solace in each other’s arms.

They stayed that way for long moments, simply holding each other, exchanging sweet kisses that grew in warmth but never rushed. Barclay’s hands cradled her back, his touch reverent and gentle, while Jane’s fingers smoothed over his shoulders, memorizing the feel of him.

Finally, when they broke apart, his eyes searched hers. “I love you, Jane,” he said quietly, the words simple but weighted with meaning.

Her smile was pure sunshine. “And I love you.”

* * *

It was strange to be kissing a woman in her bedroom once more. He had always been assiduous about whom he spent time with. Apprehensive of consequences might explain it, but more than that, he preferred to be with someone special. Someone of deep affection. As such, this was the first time he had embraced anyone since Natalya’s passing.