The Perfect Lady Worthe (4 page)

When the two were done seeing to Jane’s comfort, they bade her goodnight, snuffed all the candles except the two in the sconce closest to the door, and let themselves out—leaving Jane in a very large, unfamiliar room with nothing but her blanket and thoughts. It would be a long night, to be sure.

Chapter Five

Gareth threw aside his sheet and blanket and rolled himself to a sitting position at the end of his bed. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he groaned. Insomnia was worse than the plague. It had to be. At least with the plague one either got well or died. He’d been suffering from occasional stretches of insomnia for as long as his seven-and-twenty-year-old memory could think back. Even at Eton and Cambridge he’d been restless at night during weeks of exams or other planned interruptions.

He lowered both of his bare feet to the cold stone floor beneath him and grimaced.

Unfortunately, even the cold couldn’t keep him in his bed and under the warm blankets.

He stood and threw on his dressing robe.

Plucking a candle from the nearest sconce, Gareth wandered into the hall, then down the stairs.

Chess,
he thought with a
snap
of his fingers.

With the ladies occupying his drawing room for the majority of the day he hadn’t made his move in the afternoon. Perhaps he’d just play out a whole game while he was there—

All thoughts of chess ended and his frown deepened when the door to the drawing room came into view. There was a low light illuminating the inch-wide space between the bottom of the door and the floor. Had one of the servants forgotten to put out the fire? Or had the candles been left burning? Or was someone in there? The questions and possibilities mounted with each step he took toward the door.

Grasping the doorknob, he paused. Should he go in there? What if Jemma or one of Holbrook’s sisters were in there? The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

He bit off a curse. This was his house, devil take it. He’d go in any room he wanted, thank you very much.

Without a second’s hesitation, Gareth pulled open the door.

He blinked, taking in the room.

The wall sconce mounted by the door had both beeswax candles burning. The curtains along the north window were partially open and there appeared to be a small layer of embers in the hearth, evidence of a fire that died not so long ago.
How odd
.

It appeared as if his guests had stayed in the drawing room late into the evening and the servants hadn’t come to take care of it for the evening. How convenient. He could drag the chess table over toward the fire and—

A faint, but distinct
clicking
sound floated to his ears. Freezing in place, he strained to listen. It sounded like it was coming from the hearth—which would make sense since the fire was dying. He padded closer and furrowed his brow. This didn’t sound like fire. It sounded—

“
Damn!”
he said when his bare toe collided with something hard and decidedly sturdy—followed almost immediately by his knee colliding with the same thing.

“Th—that’s what y-y-you get f-f-for sn-sneaking up on a b-b-body,” chattered a feminine voice.

Gareth lowered his candle to see who was cloaked in shadows and talking to him.
Jane.

“What are you doing here?” He cleared his throat. He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so rough.

“S-s-sleeping.” She offered him a weak smile through her chattering teeth. “T-trying to anyway.”

“In here?”

She nodded her trembling chin in response.

Gareth didn’t pretend to know why and stoked the embers until they sparked, then threw another log on top of them. “Do you always sleep in the drawing room?”

“No, only when there are no bedchambers offered.” A resounding
clop
echoed throughout the room when she cut herself off by clapping a hand over her own mouth. “Mmmhmmm mm mmm mmmm,” she said through her hand.

Despite himself and the situation, he grinned like a simpleton, then reached down and wrapped his fingers around her delicate wrist. Lifting it ever so slightly from her pink lips, he said, “Pardon? Can you repeat that?”

“Which part?” Her eyes flared wide and she moved to bring her hand over her mouth again, but he wouldn’t let her. He rather enjoyed her brass and he had no idea why.

“The last part. I heard the first quite clear.”

She tried to pull her hand from his, but he didn’t loosen his grip. He would in a moment, but not yet. “I asked you to forgive me, my lord.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “I’m not so sure I believe that.”

“But it’s the truth,” she burst out as if he’d just charged her with some heinous crime.

“Oh, and you’d
only
speak the truth, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Mmmhmm.” He ran the pad of his thumb over the side of her delicate wrist, noting just how cold her skin was. “What was that you said about not being offered a bedchamber?”

She covered her eyes and forehead with her free hand. “Please forget I said that. I didn’t mean—”

Gareth cut off her words by placing a single finger over her lips. “Your penchant is for always telling the truth—no matter what. My greatest talent in this life is for having an incredible memory—”

“Except when it comes to remembering how many house guests you’ll be hosting,” she said against his finger.

Gareth chuckled at the way she squeezed her eyes shut, presumably due to the embarrassment of speaking so plainly to him yet again. “I admit that was a rare lapse,” he allowed with a smile. “But, try as I might I shan’t forget anything you’ve said.”

As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t. He might find her beautiful to look at and he might even be intrigued more than he ought to be by her quick tongue, but that was as far as it went. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage her to think he’d be good husband material—for either Charlotte… or her. She was Holbrook’s sister, he reminded himself once again.

Releasing her hand as if it suddenly had burned him, he straightened to his full height. “I’m sorry my staff were negligent in assigning you a proper bedchamber. I’ll ring for one near your sister to be made ready immediately.” Why that hadn’t happened when she arrived he hadn’t an inclination, but he’d address it with Potter and Mrs. Boyles immediately.

“Please don’t.” Her words were so soft he almost didn’t hear them through his own thoughts.

“Pardon?”

Jane clenched her blanket against her chest. “I don’t like being carried upstairs.”

All the blood in Gareth’s body drained straight to his toes. How could he have been so obtuse? It all made sense now why Potter had asked where he wanted Miss Cavanaugh put. Not understanding the situation fully, he’d been flippant in his answer.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I didn’t realize…” Heat crept up his face. “I’ll be right back.”

Without giving her a chance to question him, he ran to the door and tugged the bell pull.

“When Potter comes I’ll have him order the footmen to have a proper bedchamber made ready for you downstairs,” he assured her, bending down to add more logs to fire. It would take a while before she could be moved to her new room and there was no reason for her to be cold while she waited.

“There’s no need.”

Gareth set down the fire poker and took a seat on the floor by her side. “Oh, yes, there is a need. This room is not suitable for a young lady’s bedchamber.”

Panic and something he couldn’t place flickered in her eyes. “It’s quite adequate, I assure you.”

He snorted. “Says the young lady whose teeth were chattering so hard they woke her host.”

“They were not.”

He pinned her with a look. “I do not embellish.”

A little peel of unbridled laughter escaped her lips. “Just send for my maid and have her stoke the fire.”

Gareth snorted again. “I’ll do no such thing. You’ll be moving rooms.” He racked his brain to think of a room that’d be smaller and easier to convert into a bedchamber for the duration of her stay. “The library will be far more comfortable.”

“As grand as it sounds to be afforded so many choices to amuse myself when insomnia sets in, I’d rather stay here.”

“You have insomnia?”

Jane twisted her lips. “Sometimes.”

“How do you cure it?” She’d only said when it “sets in,” giving him hope there was a cure.

“Study the ceiling.”

A fist clenched in his gut. Was it possible for him to be anymore oblivious to her needs? “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

“Don’t be.” The sharpness in her tone could cut steel.

“No, I need to be. I was being thoughtless. Please forgive me.”

Jane tapped her finger against her chin. “Only if you let me stay here.”

“Why do you want to stay here so blasted badly?” he burst out.

Jane swallowed audibly. “I don’t want to be moved.”

“The library is downstairs.” He hoped that’d ease her fears and she’d stop fighting it.

“It’s not that.” She closed her eyes and sighed.

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing. I’ll go,” she said without bothering to open her eyes.

He blew out a breath. What a maddening lady she was! “I don’t do well with games and theatrics, Jane,” he said with a calm he didn’t feel.

“Says the man who would have me believe my chattering teeth stole him from his slumber,” she murmured, still not bothering to look at him.

Just then, Potter with his nightcap askew peeked his head into the room.

Gareth ran over to him and gave him instructions to ready the library to be used as Jane’s bedchamber post haste. And yes, that did include bringing down a bed from the attics. He chanced a glance at her. While it was nice that her chair reclined he doubted that could be comfortable for an entire night.

When he was finished with his instructions, he walked back over to where Jane lay.

“All right, I confess I was already awake,” he said, sitting on the floor again. “But when I first walked into this room I heard the little
clink, clink, clink,
of your teeth hitting together.” Abandoning all good sense, Gareth reached his index finger to her face and ran his knuckle over the smooth skin of her cheek. “Now that I’ve made my confession, can you make yours about why you don’t want to leave this room?”

“It’s unimportant.”

“Unimportant?” he said on a chuckle. “A minute ago you were acting as if it was imperative that you stay in this room. Almost as if this is where you’d told your Prince Charming to meet you and—” He poked his bottom lip out in an overdone frown. “You’re not intending to use my drawing room as a meeting place for one of those rapscallions on that list you made earlier to haul you off, are you?”

Jane gave a heavy sigh. “Oh dear, you’ve caught me.”

Gareth chuckled. “All the more reason to secret you away in the library!”

Jane’s hands flew to her face, muffling her laughter.

Gareth fought his urge to pull her hands from her face and let that contagious sound fill the room. “Jane, I can’t help you if I don’t know what you want.”

~*~

Jane’s heart slammed in her chest and her laughter ceased with an abrupt gasp.

I can’t help you if I don’t know what you
want
. Want.
Nobody had ever asked what she wanted. Needed? Yes. It would seem with her living as an invalid all anyone cared about were her needs, not her wants. Apparently she wasn’t supposed to have any.

“It’s a personal matter,” she whispered, a blush heating her face and a small pang of something she couldn’t place settling in her chest.

“Personal,” he repeated thoughtfully. He sat quiet for a moment. “Oh.” Lord Worthe scrambled to his feet. “I’m sorry, I shall request that Potter wake two of the maids to help you.”

“No!” Jane hadn’t meant to shriek; it just slipped. “I mean, please don’t do that.”

His mouth worked, but nothing came out.

Jane curled her fingers into the blanket. “I don’t want your staff to see…” She knew that sounded ridiculous, but that didn’t make it any less true. It was hard enough that sometimes some of Michael’s staff came in when she was vulnerable, but his staff was loyal. They’d never mock her or talk about her when she wasn’t around.

Silence filled the air between them and a myriad of emotions played over Lord Worthe’s face. “Jane,” he rasped. “I beg you to forgive me. I’m not…” He raked his hand through his hair the same way she’d witnessed Michael do when he was frustrated. “I won’t call for maids to be sent, but I won’t compromise on the room. You’ll catch your death if you stay in this one.”

Panic overtook her. While it was bad enough to think of Lord Worthe’s housemaids seeing her at her most vulnerable, it was worse to think his footmen would be the ones to see her in her current state! “Death would be preferable.”

“I doubt that.” Lord Worthe lit the five candles in the candelabra nearest her then blew out the one he’d been holding.

“I don’t know. Death by the ague might be painful, but it only lasts for a few weeks. Death by humiliation… that’s a lifetime.”

“You know, for staring down the barrel of death, you sure do have a sharp tongue.” He adjusted the sash on his dressing robe and she blushed.