William stood rooted, chest heaving, the taste of her still on his tongue, her scent on his hand, burning with the memory of her flesh.
Chapter 12
The schoolroom was still, as if it too waited with her. A faint scent of chalk lingered, mingled with lilac drifting in through the open casement. June had only just begun, yet the air already stirred with a lazy breeze—warmer than she liked. Jane sat with her notes spread before her, preparing the lesson that had been canceled this morning.
The door burst open, jolting her from her thoughts.
“Miss Ansley! Miss Ansley!” Margaret came flying in, cheeks flushed, hair tumbling loose from its neat braid, her boots spattered with mud from the paddock. She carried her little riding whip as though it were a marshal’s baton, brandishing it in triumph.
“He let me ride, he truly did!” she exclaimed breathlessly, spinning into the room. “William—oh, he is the finest rider, the finest brother in all the world! You should have seen him, Miss Ansley—straight as an arrow in the saddle, and the horse obeys him as if it were magic. He held my hand as I mounted, and when I wobbled, he steadied me himself. And when I laughed, he laughed with me, not at me!” She stopped for breath, eyes glowing.
Jane could only smile, though her throat tightened. The child was radiant, her small chest rising and falling as though she had galloped the length of the paddock herself. For so long Margaret had wilted under neglect, starved of affection. Now, after thesmallest crumb of kindness, she was transformed, her whole being alight with delight.
“Oh, Miss Ansley,” she went on, clasping Jane’s hand with eager fingers, “I wish you had a brother like mine. Truly I do. There is no one like him. Do you not think so?”
Jane’s lips curved, though she kept her eyes lowered, afraid her expression might betray too much.No one like him—the words pierced deep. How could she answer? How could she explain that her body still tingled with the memory of his touch, that shame and longing warred in her so violently she scarce knew which would prevail? She dared not speak the truth, so she only said softly, “You are very fortunate, my dearest.”
Margaret sighed blissfully, as if this confirmed everything she already knew. She trudged off to fetch her grammar book, casting a mournful look over her shoulder. “Lessons! We must have them, though I would rather speak only of William all day long.”
Jane shook her head with fond resignation. “Lessons we must have indeed. But as the day is so fine, let us not bury ourselves in here. Fetch your bonnet—we shall take our reading outside.”
Margaret clapped her hands, her joy renewed, and darted off like a sparrow released from its cage.
Jane rose more slowly, gathering her notes with careful hands. Her gaze lingered a moment on the sunlight spilling through the window, gilding the motes of dust in the stillness.He gave her happiness. For that alone, I cannot resent him. And yet her own heart trembled still, every beat echoing the feel of his weight pressing her down, his voice rough against her ear, his lips scorching her skin.
She pressed the books to her breast, willing calm into her face.I cannot—must not—think of it again.
* * *
The parkland of Westford Castle stretched wide and serene, the lawns rolling down to the clustered trees beyond. The day was warming, and in this quiet corner of the grounds, the air was fragrant with lavender and the faint sweetness of hawthorn in bloom.
Jane and Margaret walked together along the gravel path, their shadows stretched long before them. Margaret skipped now and then in sheer high spirits, clutching her bonnet in one hand, her grammar book forgotten under the other arm.
They had not gone far into the woods when the muffled thud of hooves reached them—steady, unhurried, echoing faintly beneath the canopy. Jane looked up at once, her chest clenching.
Through the filtered light, he came into view: Lord Blackmeer on horseback, tall in the saddle, his posture easy despite the animal’s restless toss of the head. He wore no coat, only a plain waistcoat and shirt open at the throat, the careless attire of a man at leisure. The sight of him hit her hard.
Margaret gave a gleeful squeal. “William! William, come down—you must join us!” She ran forward, waving madly, aglow with joy simply to see him.
He reined in, dismounting with effortless grace, and tied the horse to a low branch. When he turned to them, his expression was composed, almost bland, as though nothing at all had passed between them the night before. That composure made Jane’s blush burn hotter.
“Miss Ansley is telling me stories of the ancients,” Margaret said eagerly, catching his hand and tugging him closer. “Do you know, William, that the Greeks once built a wooden horse, taller than a cottage, and hid inside it? And when the Trojans pulled it into their city, the Greeks crept out at night and took everything! Burned it all to the ground!” She beamed up at him, eyes shining. “Is it not wonderful? When I am a general, I must know such things.”
He smiled faintly, indulgent, but his gaze flicked—inevitably—to Jane. She kept her head bowed, though she felt the weight of his attention like a brand.
Margaret went on, breathless with excitement. “Miss Ansley says it shows how cunning may be stronger than force. You must tell the Duke of Wellington of it, William, when next you see him! It may help us win the next war faster! So you won’t be gone for so long.”
William laughed, a low sound, half amusement, half fondness. “I think His Grace knows his Homer, little one. But you are right—it is cunning indeed.” He studied Jane with unreadable intensity. “Miss Ansley seems to have a gift for teaching the right kind of stories.”
Her heart gave a painful twist.Why does he stay? Why can he speak so calmly, as if he has nothing to regret?She pressed her hand against the book to steady it, her knuckles white against the worn leather.
Margaret, oblivious, was already darting to a patch of wildflowers, declaring she must make a crown of them for her next campaign.
“Do not go far!” Jane called, though the words frayed.
She would have followed, but William’s voice stopped her. “Miss Ansley.” Soft. Low. She felt it in her bones.
Slowly, she lifted her eyes.He stood close now, nearer than she had realized. The scent of horse and leather and the faintest tang of brandy hung about him. His face was grave. He stared at her with a steadiness that unsettled more than any leer could have done.
