He noticed Jane following his movement with her eyes and hastily stopped.
She murmured, “That seems rather a harsh punishment for an accident.”
“My father was a harsh man,” Blake replied, his voice clipped as anger seeped into it.
He felt her place a gentle hand on his arm and stopped walking. The warmth of her touch seemed to spread through him. He turned to face her, his anger rising. He was sure he would see judgment in her eyes—or worse, pity.
Instead, there was nothing but a deep sadness. It shocked him enough that his anger dissipated.
There was a tender, protectiveness in her voice as she said, “No one should be punished for an accident. I am sorry that you had to go through that.”
Blake swallowed, unwilling to move away from her touch. “So am I.”
Something in the air seemed to solidify around them. He shook his head.
What the hell am I doing?
Gently, he moved away from Jane, plastering on a practiced smile.
“Well, that is quite enough of my tragic backstory. I would not want to bore you with it,” he said in a too-brittle tone for it to be a joke. “After all, I know how little you care for my melodrama.”
“You are allowed to feel pain at the past—anger even.” Jane reached a hand towards him as though she wanted to comfort him, but at the last moment, she curled her fingers into a fist and drew it to her chest. “It does not make you weak.”
Blake could not tell if he was relieved that she had drawn back or disappointed. He shrugged. “The past is better left in the past. Thanks to my father, I know several wonderful tricks for getting horse manure out of clothes as well as wine stains out of silk. And I have found them very useful as an adult.”
Jane looked as though she were weighing a decision in her mind, and after a moment, she asked in a tone that was quite serious, “Do you spend much time getting wine stains out of things?”
“No, I prefer to drink rather than wear my wine. But things occur in the heat of the moment,” he replied, with an exaggerated wink.
Jane frowned, her eyes skimming over his features as if she saw right through his rakish armor. As if she sawBlake the Rakefor what he was—a mask.
“Shame, I would have thought wine would rather suit you, given the way trifle flatters your attire.” Jane gestured to his clothes with one of the bowls in her hand.
“Perhaps we should try some on you.” He grinned wickedly and took a step towards her.
“You would not dare!” Jane’s eyes widened.
In answer, Blake swiped a finger through the trifle remains in one of the bowls Jane carried, and smeared it across her face. The trifle was a striking contrast to the warmth of her skin.
Jane’s breath hitched, and her lips parted even as her eyes narrowed. He grinned at her, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, his hand still resting on her cheek.
A moment later, something sticky slapped the side of his face. Jane had thrown the remaining trifle at him. Her eyes were full of laughter as Blake stepped away, gently wiping his face and then licking his fingers.
“Delicious.” He winked at her.
Her cheeks flushed. “Contemptible rogue.”
“Yes, but you enjoy it.”
“I do not.”
“I think the lady doth protest too much.”
The sound of a door opening behind them made them jump and hastily move away from each other.
“What on earth happened?” Emily asked, a clear hint of amusement in her voice.
“What, do you not care for my new fashion?” Blake struck a ridiculous pose as the others peered around the door as well.
