Chapter 24

24

As Richard roundedthe corridor’s corner, he collided with something soft and shimmering. A squeak echoed in the hallway, causing him to momentarily freeze. It wasn’t something he had bumped into…it was someone—Jane. She teetered, off-balance and on the verge of tumbling.

Instinctively, Richard thrust out his arms, catching her by her delicate shoulders. Good heavens, she was a vision in the lavishly designed ball gown, crafted meticulously to enhance her natural elegance. It clung to her form, accentuating her curves, her graceful neck, and her chest, which rose and fell rhythmically with her breath.

He was at a loss for words.

His gaze swept over her, drinking in the sight of her. It was as if the long corridor lined with doors leading to various rooms seemed to evaporate. The large multipaned window at the end bathed Jane in a halo of sunlight, painting a picture of a church aisle, her standing before him, reciting vows.

“Jane,” he finally found his voice, a whisper lost in the grandeur of the house, “you’re absolutely stunning.”

With a quick movement, Jane flicked away a stray lock of hair caught in the rim of her spectacles. “Thank you,” she murmured, her chest heaving.

She looked incredibly enticing, her cheeks flushed, pupils dilated, and lips a tantalizing red. Merely being in her presence, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her, sent a rush of blood southward, awakening a desire within him. But he wanted more than her body—he longed for a place in her heart, yearned for her to be his wife.

“May I have a word with you?” he asked.

Her eyes darted to the closed door of Calliope’s bedroom, muffled voices leaking through the sturdy wood. “I don’t have long. There are still two more dresses to try on.”

He nodded and led her gently towards the window illuminating the end of the corridor.

For the past three days, their investigation had halted while Reuben was away. But his obligation to take Jane out into society hadn’t stopped.

Though it wasn’t truly an obligation anymore—far from it. Seeing her had become as necessary as breathing.

Last night, Richard had come to take Jane to his sister-in-law Penelope’s art salon. While he’d waited for Jane, Thorne had surveyed him with a dark, warning gaze.

“Is everything ready for the wedding?” Thorne had asked coolly, thoughtfully swirling brandy in his glass.

Richard had nodded. “Indeed. The kitchen in Sumhall is preparing the feast.”

Thorne’s eyes had pierced him like a pin holding an insect to a display. “Good. Just make sure nothing stops the wedding. Remember our agreement.”

The thought of breaking off their engagement sent ripples down Richard’s spine but not out of fear. How could he ever bring himself to walk away from this woman?

At Penelope’s salon, the conversation between him and Jane had flowed. Her eyes had sparkled brighter than the chandelier that hung from the ceiling above. She had made him feel as if his feet had left the ground, and he could soar through the night sky. The feelings he had for her were overwhelming, a warmth that spread throughout his entire body.

Could she feel the same way?

After all they’d been through, could she, possibly, be having the same thoughts he was?

“Jane,” he began, “I’ll be candid. I know we agreed to an engagement to find out what happened to Spencer. But…” His heart beat rapidly in his chest. “What if we didn’t break it off?”

Jane’s blinking accelerated, and her blush faded rapidly. His body went cold. This was not the reaction he had hoped for. “But Richard—”

“If your answer is no, I urge you to reconsider. Be my wife. Let’s not terminate the engagement. Marry me.”

She disentangled her hands from his, swallowing hard. “Richard, this isn’t what we agreed upon. Why would you want to change that?”

He flinched, a knot forming in his stomach. Imagining confessing his feelings for her was one thing. Actually verbalizing them was a different matter entirely. His heart felt defenseless, fragile, just like it had when he’d been with Lady Charity. He knew Jane had doubts, just like Lady Charity had. And he just couldn’t bear it.

“Is this because of Thorne’s threat?” Jane asked, breaking into his thoughts.

That was another matter. Yet he wasn’t truly afraid of Blackmore. Perhaps he should be, but he wasn’t.

“If it is, don’t fret. I’ll handle Thorne. We can say it was because I didn’t want to, or we can stage some dishonorable act.”

A raw growl of frustration clawed its way up Richard’s throat. He yearned to tell Jane the truth, to confess his desire to share his life with her. But the ghost of past heartbreak clung to him, causing his soul to shudder.

His fear, that debilitating dread, kept him silent. He felt like a coward, unable to utter the words that truly mattered. Instead, he found himself saying, “I dishonored you, Jane. I kissed you. It would be unjust of me to leave you in such a compromised position.”

Jane chuckled, a touch of bitterness lacing her mirth. “You have done much worse things than kissing to many more women of the ton, and yet you married none of them.”

He clenched his fists helplessly. “I do not care about other women. I care about you. If anyone finds out—”

“You believe I care about such things? Society already looks down upon me. I hail from Whitechapel and have a brother accused of criminal acts. I can’t fall any lower.”

Richard’s jaw muscles worked at her words, the tic of tension visible. “Still.”

With a resigned sigh, Jane responded, “If you want an immediate answer, Richard, then it’s no. I don’t wish to marry you.”

He’d known rejection was a possibility, but hearing the words spoken aloud was a piercing blow, far worse than any anticipation. It was as if his heart was ripped from his chest and ground under a merciless millstone. The painful echo of his rejection by Lady Charity resonated in his soul—again, he was unwanted, not good enough.

* * *

“Why not?” Richard’s voice rang with urgency. “Is it because of your school?”

Jane’s hands trembled, the grandeur of the high-ceilinged hallway closing in on her. Richard stood there, a vision of manly beauty with his defined jaw, chiseled cheekbones, and blazing blue eyes, emotion deepening their color to an intense navy. Hurt lay hidden behind those captivating eyes, and a vise clutched around her heart. An errant lock of auburn hair fell over his forehead, his breathing as unsteady as hers.

She detested causing him pain, yet it seemed kinder than feeding him false hopes. “And so what if it is?” she replied, lifting her chin in resolve.

“You can have it. You can build ten schools and run all of them. I won’t restrict you. In fact, I’ll help you.”

His words were a soothing balm and a sharp sting all at once. Why did he have to be so perfect? Her heart pounded against her ribs, which threatened to splinter from the strain. He was offering her every woman’s dream—a man who not only accepted her ambitions, no matter how unconventional, but also pledged to aid her.

His pledge effectively negated her excuse. With a downward glance at her extravagant gown, she smoothed the luxurious fabric nervously. “It’s not just about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

She waved a hand around, indicating the surroundings. “All this. The balls. The soirées. The political games of invitations and exclusions. The incessant gossip. A single misstep, and a woman’s reputation—her entire life—is destroyed. This is your world. And you’re part of it.”

“As are you.”

“But I don’t belong to the ton anymore. And your kind have made that abundantly clear. Women are still glaring at me when we go out. There are rumors circulating about you having to marry me because I’ve been compromised. Some say you must have been very drunk indeed to want such a mouse as me.”

“Jane—” Richard began, his voice softer now, but she was determined to make her point.

“And yet,” she continued, “back in Whitechapel, children relish every bit of learning they receive. The sheer joy of someone reading them a book. Everything is harder but also simpler.” His expression softened as he listened. “I belong in Whitechapel, Richard. I’ll never fit in Mayfair. Perhaps five years ago I would have. But not anymore.”

“But you fit with me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

The hope in his voice was like a lighthouse in a storm. She wanted to believe him, wanted so desperately for his words to be true. But with a shake of her head, she said, “Let’s just finish what we started and part ways. We can find Reuben tonight at Elysium. He’s there every Wednesday. He might be more receptive to talk.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned on her heel and retreated to Calliope’s room, gently closing the door, severing the fragile connection between them.