He’d blamed Ethan for Nathanial and Elizabeth’s deaths, parroting his angry, grief-stricken parents. He’d allowed that to rob him of his little brother’s love, of the only family he had left. Then he’d run away from Jane’s love as well, too afraid to risk his heart again.
He couldn’t help thinking that Jane had taken a risk herself, coming to tell him what had happened to Michael. Now that everything had settled down, could he do any less? Yes, she might refuse him again, but if he didn’t even try then he had only himself to blame for the long lonely years to come.
Chapter Nine
Aweek after goingto Julian’s home, Jane walked down the hall toward her bedroom, dreading the thought of another long lonely night. The big old house seemed far too empty now that Emma was gone.
Although it was still early, she’d chosen to retire to her room with a book. Perhaps, lost in the pages, she could banish her melancholy. She wanted to pretend, if only for a little while, that she was someone else, someone other than a forgotten spinster who had nothing to look forward to but an eternity of her own company.
Entering her room, Jane put her book down on a nearby table and bent to light the lamp next to her favorite reading chair.
“Hello, Jane.”
Startled, she shrieked and whirled toward the source of the deep male voice... only to find Julian lounging in the middle of her large pedestal bed.
“How did you get in here?” She stared at him in stunned surprise. Her heart hammered erratically in her chest, the sudden fear giving way to desperate hope.
“Through the window.” His smile was wicked. “Did you think you were the only one adept at sneaking into people’s bedrooms at night?”
“I suppose not. I just wasn’t expecting you.” Nowthatwas the understatement of the year.
Even after the tentative truce they’d reached the night she’d told him of Michael’s arrest, she’d never dreamed he’d seek her out.
Greedily, she drank in the sight of him, so handsome, his black hair and clothes a stark contrast to the snowy white counterpane. Holding her gaze, he came to a sitting position and dropped his long legs off the side of the bed.
“You said we should talk.” He shrugged. “I thought I’d raise a few eyebrows by knocking on your front door at this time of night.”
She took a few hesitant steps in his direction and wondered if she looked as terrible as she feared. Her hair was scraped up in an unflattering bun, and her serviceable brown dress did nothing for her pale complexion.
“How is Michael? Did you get a chance to speak to him?” She truly did want to know how their mutual friend fared, but she was stalling, terrified that she’d misinterpreted the reason for his unexpected visit.
“I’ve seen him several times.” He sighed and loosened his cravat, exposing the strong column of his throat to her interested gaze. “He claims the earl committed suicide. At first, I didn’t believe him. You see, I know what they argued about. Michael found out that the son of a bitch murdered his mother all those years ago.”
“Poor Michael,” Jane blurted, stunned. “It must’ve been terrible for him to confront his father with such knowledge. But if he says the earl killed himself, then I’m certain that’s what happened.”
“Apparently, you have more faith in my friend than I do. I feel like the worst sort of ass for not believing him all along.”
