Jane pushed herself up on one elbow, amused. “At three months old? His needs aren’t so complex. He either wants feeding or changing.”
Relief softened his face, and he gave a short, almost sheepish chuckle. “That simple.”
She reached for her robe, slipping it on loosely, and crossed the room to the cradle. A moment later she returned, the child squirming in her arms, his small mouth latched greedily at her breast. She climbed back into bed beside William, nestling the boy comfortably against her. With a sigh, she let herself sink into the pillows. The infant nursed in eager gulps, his tiny fists flexing.
William turned on his side, watching them both with awe. “He seems very hungry.”
Jane laughed softly. “Always. Every three hours or so. You’ll never get any sleep in this house.”
But William did not laugh. His gaze stayed fixed on her, the baby at her breast. “Jane—you won’t live in this house any longer.”
Her brow creased. “What do you mean?”
“I came back from war. It is truly over. We can announce the marriage now. Tomorrow, you and the boy will come with me to Westford House. Tonight is the last you’ll spend here.”
She went very still. The softness drained from her expression, her eyes hardening. When she spoke at last, her calm wasdeliberate, each word a restraint. “So. Now you are ready to take me out of the shadows, and I am to leap at your call?”
He frowned, incredulous. “Jane, you must see it is for the best. The secrecy was always temporary. I told you that.”
“And in the meantime,” she returned, “you set me aside when it suited you. But now you think to summon me—to show me off like some trinket.”
“You never seemed to understand,” he said tightly. “I was protecting you.”
“But surely it could have been done with more care for my feelings,” she said in a low tone, trying not to startle the baby. “I almost died, and my mother wasn’t even there. She still thinks I’m a fallen woman—likely in a brothel by now, if my uncle’s letter is any indication.” Her voice sharpened, though she did not raise it.
“I did what I had to,” he forced out. “And I did it for us.”
“How can you say that?” Her eyes flashed with restrained fury. “When it was clearly not enough. I felt alone, isolated, at your mercy.”
His temper stirred, but he fought for calm. That was astute. She was at his mercy. “Jane. I am not merely a man. I am the heir to a dukedom. And you are my lawful wife. You should obey me of your own accord.” The next words escaped before he could stop them. “Do not mistake my patience, for weakness. Know—I have means to do with you as I please. I could take our son, drag you back to Westford House by force… chain you to my bloody bed. No one could stop me.”
He stilled.God help me, why did I say that?I promised I’d swallow every bitter word, every scrap of pride just to be with her again. And the moment I bed her, I am back at my old self.
Her hand tightened on the baby, who suckled on, oblivious. For an instant her pulse leapt in fear—he could do it, God help her, he had the power. But when she spoke, composed andcold, her tone was edged with dry sarcasm. “William, when you threaten me, you do not invite my obedience. You only drive me further from you. I can be a dutiful wife, but I doubt you’ll like it.”
He swallowed hard. He did not want to drag her with him only to be tolerated out of duty. The thought of her lying still beneath him, eyes fixed on the ceiling while he spent himself, filled him with dread. She pressed on.
“I am your wife, yes. But I am also my own person. I have built something here—a circle, a name, a place where I am valued. I will not abandon it only to be paraded as the upstart your father’s world delights in despising. Here, I have respect. I will not give it up, not yet.”
Anger surged hot in his chest, the words unbidden. “Respect? From those poets who flock to you like flies to honey? Shall I endure my wife surrounded by men who dream only of bedding her?”
Jane lifted her chin, her gaze unwavering. “They value my mind. My writings. I am published now, William. I am read.”
He laughed, harsh and cold. Every thought of restraint dismissed as jealousy reared its ugly head. “Read? By Matthews? That boy wanted nothing but to get between your thighs. That is all any of them want. Not your mind. You think grown men come here to be lectured by a twenty-two-year-old girl?”
She looked down at the child, blinking hard. Then drew a breath, lifted her head, and met his eyes—her own blazing. “Do not mistake your weakness for theirs. There are men who value my mind above what I have between my thighs. You, William, are the one who speaks as though it is all that matters.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, his voice edged with scorn. “Then tell me more of how men think, wife. You seem to know far better than I.”
She had no wish to quarrel further, and only shook her head. “I have made something of my own. I will not abandon it. I am not saying I will never come to Westford House. But not yet. Give me this time.”
His jaw set, disbelief raw on his face. “You wish to stay here. To deny me. To refuse your place at my side?”
She lifted her chin. “Call it refusal if you like. I call it reason. And if you love me, you will wait.”
His hand tightened against the sheets. “And in the meantime, what? I steal into your bed at night while you play Mrs. Strathmore by day?”
Her lips curved faintly. “If you wish. That is my compromise.”
