“Mrs. Munroe?”
Jane hastily claimed a seat and folded her hands upon her lap. And waited. After all, her recent dismissal from Mrs. Belden’s had taught her the perils of her quick tongue. Surely for two months she might manage to be the proper, polite companion the marquess sought for his sister.
The Marquess of Waverly claimed the chair opposite her. He continued to examine her in that assessing way until she shifted under the weight of his scrutiny. She’d spent the better part of her life striving to remain invisible, to attract no notice. To be noticed was to be ruined, particularly for a young woman in a powerful nobleman’s employ. Jane promptly dropped her gaze to her lap. The fire snapped and hissed from within the hearth, however, the roaring fire did little to warm her. He knows. She fought to still her quaking fingers. Of course he didn’t know. How could he? She stole an upward peek at him. Or did he?
Ever the regal, polished nobleman, he reclined in his seat, elegant in repose. His long fingers rested along the arms of his mahogany armchair. He broke the impasse of silence. “Forgive me. I’d believed I’d been clear with Mrs. Belden that I would send around a carriage to retrieve you.”
Jane curled her hands into a white-knuckled grip. She should truly be focused on that carefully ignored detail accounting for her hasty travel plans. Retrieve her. Instead, she fixed on those two insolent words. Retrieve her, the way he might an errant child.
“Mrs. Munroe?”
“Forgive me, I didn’t realize yours was a question.” His dark eyebrows snapped into a single line and she cursed her tongue. Jane managed a demure smile. Or at the very least attempted a demure smile. Alas, her mother had always said Jane had possessed more spirit than a ghost haunting his resting place on All Hallows’ Eve. “Mrs. Belden knew your request was an urgent one, my lord.” There, a safe response. After all, Mrs. Belden was long concerned with respectability and the powerful peers who entrusted their daughters to her care. She would have recognized any missive sent by the marquess as a matter of urgency.
The marquess inclined his head as though he’d found her answer satisfactory. Hope stirred within her breast as some of her misgivings lifted. “I trust Mrs. Belden has shared information with you about my sister?”
He may as well have removed the medieval broadsword from his office wall and drove it directly through the fledgling optimism. Of course the beastly headmistress would be expected to select a companion who, if not a former instructor, at the very least came to the marquess with knowledge of his sister.
“Oh, yes,” she lied through her forced smile. Her mind raced as she considered all the ladies she’d known in her tenure at the finishing school. Dull. Proper. Exceedingly polite. Unfailingly and unflinchingly demure English ladies in every regard. “Mrs. Belden spoke with fond remembrance of your sister.”
He stilled. “Did she?”
As those two words lacked any hint of emotion or indication of his thoughts, she gave a vigorous nod. “Ever so proper.” Devoid of spirit. “Practical of nature, she evinces all ladylike skills the school is renowned for instilling.” Did his lips twitch?
The marquess hooked his ankle over his knee, drawing her attention down to his leg. She swallowed hard and told herself to look away. It wasn’t polite or proper or any of the other very ladylike words she’d spouted for his benefit. But perhaps she had more of her shameful mother in her than she’d believed, for Jane, who’d never done something as foolhardy as notice a man, particularly not a nobleman, stared transfixed at the thickly muscled expanse of his thighs, entirely too broad for any proper nobleman. Marquesses were supposed to be spindly and reed-thin from lack of physical exertions, not this…She fanned her cheeks.
“Are you warm, Mrs. Munroe?”
“Yes.” Jane yanked her gaze up and found the faintest trace of amusement contained within his eyes, as though he knew she’d been staring at his legs, which was madness. Jane Munroe, bastard daughter, detester of men and their glib tongues, did not admire men. And then belatedly she recalled the frigid room. “No,” she said quickly.