“I do not like it when people pretend to be something they aren’t,” Blake explained.
For a moment, his mind drifted to a moment years in the past. His chest tightened, and the sickly smell of rum and cheap perfume invaded his nostrils. He pushed the memory away violently, forcing himself to return to the present.
“And how would you know what I am?” Jane asked bitterly.
“I do not, but I do not think you do either,” Blake answered. “All evening, I have watched you, and you seemed like an entirely different person.”
“Many people are different with people they trust.”
“Not so different as night and day. All evening, you have been loud, chaotic, and boisterous.” Blake gestured around them. “But whenever I see you at balls or the like, you are anything but this. In fact, most people seem to barely have any memory of you.”
“If this is you attempting to console me, you’re doing a poor job of it.” Jane frowned at him.
Blake ignored her jab. “I can only think that you are so different from one place to the next because you do not truly know who you are.”
“Who are you to decide if I know who I am? You don’t know anything about me.” Jane took a step towards him and jabbed him hard in the chest.
“Perhaps I am curious about what lies beneath this carefully curated surface.” Blake stood his ground as the smell of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air between them.
“Why?” Jane inclined her head towards him.
“Because I like to know who I am dealing with.” Blake took a step closer to her, expecting her to move away.
She didn’t.
“Who is Miss Jane Pembleton?” Blake asked, and when there was no answer, he laughed softly, moving a little away from her. “See, you cannot even answer me.”
“Perhaps I do not want to.” Jane folded her arms across her chest
“Or you cannot.” His voice was soft as he once again closed the distance between them, holding her gaze. “Tell me, when was the last time you did something just for yourself?”
“I read,” Jane answered, her voice just as soft as his.
“That hardly counts. All women are encouraged to read.”
“Well, I enjoy reading. I enjoy a great many things, actually.” Jane looked up at him, as though daring him to say otherwise.
“Like what?”
“Like… Um…” Jane faltered.
“You cannot even think of one thing that you enjoy?” Blake canted his head. “How sad, to have grown so accustomed to playing by someone else’s rules that you have lost sight of who you are.”
“You do not know what you are talking about. I am very capable of breaking rules. Just because I don’t delight in doing so at every opportunity, does not mean I cannot.” Jane glowered at him, her eyes once more full of fire.
“Prove it,” he whispered.
The air between them seemed to crackle with the challenge. Blake was mere inches from Jane, so close that he could see her fine features in the candlelight.
For a moment, Jane said nothing. Time seemed to stop, and then she turned away from him.
“I have nothing to prove, least of all to you.” Her voice floated to him as she began to walk away. “Good night, Your Grace.”
The tension seemed to fade into nothing, and Blake was left feeling oddly bereft. Shaking himself, he rolled back his shoulders and returned to the party, unsure of what had just happened.
ChapterSeven
Challenge Accepted
