Waterson looked from Gabriel’s face to the drink held in his hand. He repeated his study in that recriminating way. But for his siblings, only Waterson knew of the hell Gabriel had suffered through, and even then only the glimpses he’d shared with the man. Suddenly, the topic of Jane was immensely more appealing and far safer. “Mrs. Munroe is a proper and perfectly acceptable companion. Her physical appearance has no bearing on her ability in the role.” It did have bearing on this unholy claim she’d laid to his thoughts. “Now,” he set his glass down hard with a thud. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course,” Waterson said with a slight incline of his head.
Gabriel shoved to his feet, and then with a short bow, took his leave. With each step, he battled the demons of his past. Only, time had proven that once his father dug in, Gabriel remained in his grip—which was as strong now from the grave as it had been when the monster lived.
*
When Jane had been a small girl, she’d always admired her mother’s satin and silk skirts. She would brush her fingers over the smooth, cool fabric and dream of the day she’d be draped in such vibrant gowns. With a child’s innocence, she’d not given thought to where the beautiful dresses came from. She only knew they came in great big boxes with velvet ribbons and when they did, her mother’s oftentimes sad smile would turn a bit happier, and she’d don those skirts and Jane would sit in wide-eyed awe at such beauty.
It wasn’t until she was seven, the first time she’d met her father that she understood just where those gowns came from and the significance of those great big boxes with their velvet ribbons. So that had shattered her innocence as the once revered dresses were beautiful no more. For at that moment, Jane learned why nursemaids had shuttled her off and why the village children had whispered and stared and why she was, in fact, different than the others…and it was also why she vowed to never wear a stunning satin gown.
Until today. When at the insistence of Chloe Edgerton, she’d allowed a modiste to layer those luxuriant fabrics to her body. Each scrap had touched her skin like a lash with ugly reminders of her past and the shameful truth of her existence.
Jane removed the useless wire-rimmed spectacles from her nose. Seated on the leather button sofa in Gabriel’s library, she sighed and set the delicate frames on the rose-inlaid table beside her. For as much as her mother had loved her father and the lavish, albeit secret, lifestyle he’d allowed her, all those material comforts, all those gowns and jewels had ultimately meant nothing. They’d not brought her happiness. They’d not brought her respect. No, they’d merely degraded her before a cruel Society. In that weakness, for the love of a man she could never have and empty, meaningless possessions that only brought a fleeting and very empty happiness, Jane resolved to never become her mother. A woman who even at her death four years ago of a wasting illness had lain abed waiting for a man—who’d never come.
That was love.
A man who would abandon the woman who’d given all for just a scrap of his heart.
A woman who would choose that selfish cad above her own daughter.
Her lips twisted with bitterness. Love was cold and empty and selfish, and Jane wanted no part of it. After she had the three thousand pounds her father had settled upon her when she reached her twenty-fifth year, she could retreat from the reminders of satins and silks and use those funds for something that mattered. Except, since she’d entered Gabriel’s home, how often had she thought of her plans for a school different than the Mrs. Belden’s Finishing Schools of the world? Instead, she’d kissed Gabriel of her own will and desires, and worse, still dreamed of that embrace.
Jane drew her knees close to her chest and dropped her chin atop the coarse, brown, and comfortably safe fabric. Being here as hired companion to his sister was a matter of necessity; safety, even. And yet nothing seemed safe anymore, now knowing the coolly aloof nobleman. For God help her, she’d tasted in his kiss the weakness that had so consumed her mother that she’d tossed away all for the pleasure of it. Jane rubbed her chin over the fabric of her gown. She must take care around Gabriel. For this awareness of him moved beyond the physical and into dangerous territories that involved emotion and—