Chapter Eighteen
Evans Hall
Alex rode up to the stables as the sun sank low in the sky. His tenants might be wondering why the lord of the manor kept showing up to help rebuild stone fences and mend thatched roofs, but he needed the physical exercise. He hoped he’d worn himself out enough to sleep tonight without the aid of half a bottle of brandy.
“Milord, I’ve been on the watch for ye,” his head groom said, coming up to him the moment Horatio put a hoof in the stable yard. “I was about to send someone to find ye.”
Anxiety cramped Alex’s gut. “What’s amiss, O’Reilly?” he asked as he swung out of the saddle.
O’Reilly shrugged and handed him a letter. “Maybe nothing, but a man in the Duke of Hart’s livery delivered this about half an hour ago. They sent him down from the house with it so I could give it to ye straightaway.”
“Ah.” Anxiety moved from his gut to his chest. Why was Marcus writing to him? Had something happened to the baby?
He took a deep breath. Likely he only wished to urge him to reconsider his decision about the christening.
He’d been very sorry to decline the invitation, especially the honor of being William’s godfather, but much as he wished otherwise, he found he just couldn’t bear to see Jane. Perhaps someday he’d be able to meet her and act as if she were merely a friend of his friend’s wife, but not yet. The wound was still too raw.
Raw? Hell, three months after the fact, it was still a gaping, jagged gash. He had to force himself to get out of bed in the morning.
She said she loved me. She—
No. He slammed the door shut on those thoughts as he did every time they tried to force their way in. He wished he could lock and bolt that door forever, but no matter how many hours he rode poor Horatio, how hard he worked his body, or how many glasses of brandy he downed, the memories still teased and taunted him.
The fact was she didn’t love him enough.
He turned the letter over in his hands. As he’d expected, the direction was written in Marcus’s bold scrawl.
Why had Marcus sent this by messenger?
The christening was still almost a week away. There was no urgency. Nate was going to be there, so they didn’t need Alex as godfather. Regular post would have worked perfectly well.
Horatio nudged his shoulder, understandably annoyed at being ignored. And O’Reilly was still standing in front of him, patiently waiting for him to come out of his reverie.
“Thank you, O’Reilly. Will you take charge of Horatio for me?”
“Of course, milord.” O’Reilly’s brow furrowed as he took Horatio’s bridle. “Ye’ve been riding him hard again.” He couldn’t quite keep a note of criticism out of his voice.
O’Reilly would take issue with the Prince Regent himself if he thought he wasn’t treating a horse properly.
“But not too hard, I think,” Alex said.
O’Reilly’s brow arched up. Clearly, he didn’t agree. Then he glanced at the letter in Alex’s hands. “If ye’ll be wanting a horse again today, milord, it will have to be Primrose. Horatio needs his rest.”
Alex nodded. He’d learned long ago not to argue with O’Reilly about such things, but this time the man’s stubbornness wasn’t a problem. “It’s almost night. I’m not planning on going anywhere.”
O’Reilly looked at the letter again. “Best read that afore ye make up yer mind. The fellow who brought it thought it so important, he was going to try to hunt ye down himself.” He snorted. “As if he could find ye in all these fields. He’d only take himself off when I swore on my mother’s grave that I’d keep a watch out and hand it to ye the moment I saw ye.”
With one last dark look at the letter, O’Reilly took Horatio off to the stables.
Alex watched him until he disappeared into the stable’s shadows and then looked back at the paper in his hand. I’m delaying.
Yes, he was. He was afraid to discover what was inside.
Best get it over with.
He walked over to a more private location under a nearby oak and broke the seal. Another sheet fluttered to the ground. Hmm. He picked up the errant paper as he scanned the cover letter. I don’t know what this says, Marcus had written, but whatever it is, I’m sure you need to read it.
His heart attempted to leap into his throat and strangle him. Dear Lord!
That might have been a prayer.
No. He crumpled the paper in his fist. Reading this would be like rubbing salt in his wound.
I should throw the bloody thing on the fire. I—
I’m not a coward, am I?
It had been three months since he’d left Loves Castle and he still felt as if someone had cut his heart out with a blunt knife. Whatever the letter said could not make things worse.
He smoothed out the paper. As he expected, it was from Jane.
Dear Lord Evans it began—but then she’d crossed out “Lord Evans” and scribbled “Alex” over it. Cat tells me you are not coming to William’s christening. I hope you will reconsider. I—There was a blot and several more cross-outs. Was that “wish” Jane had written? He couldn’t be certain. I regret what I said at the castle. I—we—More crossing out. I can’t write it in a letter. Perhaps we can talk if you come, though I understand if you don’t want to see me.
There was another blot here as if Jane had been startled and shaken her quill.
Cat’s at the door to get this. Please excuse its sloppiness. It’s my tenth attempt.
Yr Obedient Servant,
Miss Jane Wilkinson
Ha! Jane was no one’s obedient anything, but especially not servant.
He sighed and looked out over the lawn. What was the point of talking? She didn’t want to be a countess and he was an earl. No matter how much he loved her, he couldn’t cast away his title and run off to live in Loves Bridge. He had responsibilities to his people and his land. Not to mention that Waldo, his distant cousin and heir, would be furious. An unmarried Oxford don in his sixties, he would not be at all happy to leave his books, and he certainly would not wish to have anything to do with getting an heir of his own.
No, there was no point in talking, but Jane was right. He shouldn’t stay away from the christening. That was cowardly of him. And selfish. He would write Marcus tonight, before he changed his mind.
He glanced at the letter one more time before stuffing it in his pocket—and saw he’d overlooked some words at the very bottom of the page. They were blurred as if she’d written them in haste and folded the paper before the ink was dry. What did they say?
He squinted, trying to make them out—
I miss you.
Zeus!
Had he read that correctly?
The light was beginning to fail. He held the sheet closer, turned so he got the last of the sun.
Yes. He’d read it correctly.
He closed his eyes as the words sunk in. She misses me. Jane misses me.
She regretted something, something she couldn’t put in a letter. Their union, perhaps? She should regret it—it was not the sort of thing a well-bred spinster should have done.
No, she’d written she regretted something she’d said.
She wanted to talk. The christening was not for another week.
What did she want to say that she couldn’t put in a letter?
He needed to know the answer now, not in a week.
He turned and strode toward the stables. “O’Reilly,” he called, “I’ll be needing Primrose after all.”
Later, just outside Loves Bridge
Alex reined Primrose in when they reached a fork in the road near Loves Bridge. She was a good horse, but she wasn’t Horatio. It had taken far longer than he’d planned to make the relatively short journey from Evans Hall. The sun had set and even twilight was fading.
At least there was a full moon.
Blast it, he should have waited until morning to set off. What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been thinking. He’d had a vague notion of stopping at the Spinster House, talking to Jane, and then . . . what?
Well, yes, he’d hoped their discussion would end in a marriage offer accepted and a romp in Jane’s bed.
Idiot.
Even if he’d ridden Horatio, it would have been hard to make it to Loves Bridge and back in the same day, and yet he hadn’t taken time to pack a bag. And if things didn’t go well with Jane, he couldn’t stay at the inn without everyone in the village knowing he was there. How was he going to explain that without sullying Jane’s reputation?
Perhaps he could sneak off to the castle. He could pretend he’d had a sudden urge to talk to Marcus about . . . nothing.
Right.
He frowned at the road that ran off to the left and would take him past the inn and by the village green. He hadn’t given this harebrained dash any thought at all. Someone was bound to see him—he’d swear the Boltwoods had spyglasses trained on all the public areas—and then word would spread. Everyone would start speculating—if they weren’t already—about the nature of his connection to Jane.
Primrose, an extremely, er, cautious horse, shied then, bringing his attention back to her. Something had moved in the shadows.
“Shh, Primrose,” he said soothingly, patting her neck. “It was only a rabbit or a fox or—”
A tricolored cat.
“Merrow.” Poppy walked calmly into the moonlight, twitching her tail impatiently as if she’d been waiting for him.
“Good evening, Poppy. What are you doing out and about?”
And what am I doing talking to a cat again?
She gave him a very direct look and then headed down the right side of the fork.
“Lovely to see you, too. Have a good evening,” he called after her, as he urged Primrose forward, along the road to the left. He should turn back, but he couldn’t come this far without seeing Jane.
Perhaps he’d be lucky and no one would notice him. Or they wouldn’t recognize him in the dim light.
Right. They wouldn’t wonder at all at a man riding up to the Spinster House at night. Of course—
“Merrow!”
Poppy darted in front of them, almost under Primrose’s hoofs, setting the horse to dancing.
Even a placid, plodding steed could be hard to handle when spooked. It took Alex some effort to get Primrose back under control.
“What were you thinking?” he yelled at Poppy.
She’s a cat. She doesn’t think.
But Poppy looked as if she had a definite plan. She walked back toward the road he hadn’t taken.
Alex tested his theory by having Primrose take a few steps farther along his current path.
Poppy’s ears went back and she hissed, making Primrose shy again.
Clearly, the cat wanted him to take the other road. Hmm. It might connect to the lane that ran past Randolph’s office. Then he could take the path through the woods to reach the Spinster House. It would be better than riding through the center of Loves Bridge—if Poppy would even let him choose that route.
“Very well, Poppy. Since you insist.” He started Primrose down the cat’s preferred path, noticing as he did so that Poppy stationed herself behind him in case he changed his mind.
He was a bit concerned a short time later when he turned off the lane and up the narrow, rocky path through the woods, but Primrose, while slow, was surefooted, and there was enough moonlight filtering through the trees that they could see where they were going. When they reached the gate to the churchyard, he dismounted and looked around. There was no one in sight, thank God. He led the horse out of the woods and along the walk between the headstones.
He’d never been one to worry much about the supernatural, but if any of the “guests” here objected to his presence, he—and perhaps more importantly, Primrose—didn’t feel it. At least the dead weren’t going to gossip about him. It felt quite peaceful, actually, the moon lighting his way, the sky so clear he thought he could see every star God created.
He passed Isabelle Dorring’s headstone. Was her soul finally at rest now that her curse was over?
If there had ever been a curse, that is.
He led Primrose down the hill and across the road toward the Spinster House—and his spirits fell. The place was completely dark. Was Jane not there?
“Merrow.”
But Poppy was. The cat stepped out of the shadows by an old lean-to near the garden gate, causing Primrose and—yes, he’d admit it—Alex to jump.
“Take a shortcut, did you?”
Poppy stared at him, and then headed for the garden.
Alex took a moment to look inside the shabby lean-to. There was a single stall, but the place was dark and cramped and Primrose didn’t appear eager to stay there. He’d do better to let her roam the garden. He’d just—
Good God! Poppy had suddenly started caterwauling, the noise loud enough to wake the dead. Was she trying to get Isabelle to return? She’d more likely have the vicar running over to see if someone was being murdered.
Perhaps that’s her plan—to have Mr. Hutting discover me here.
He’d admit he wasn’t totally opposed to that outcome.
He sighed and urged Primrose out of the building and through the garden gate. He didn’t want Jane to be forced into marriage. That would be painful for both of them.
I’ll have to try to muzzle the cat.
But Poppy had sharp claws—he’d seen the evidence of that on Nate’s boots. He’d rather not have his blood splattered over the plants. He’d need something to throw over her....
He wrestled out of his coat as he hurried toward the Spinster House’s back door where Poppy was performing.
* * *
Full night had fallen only fifteen or twenty minutes earlier, but Jane had donned her nightgown, brushed and braided her hair, and climbed into bed long before the light faded.
She lay stiff as a board under the coverlet, her eyes wide open. She was afraid it was going to be a long night with little sleep.
She’d tried reading, but she couldn’t focus on the words. She couldn’t focus on anything.
Has Alex got my letter yet? Has he read it?
He probably won’t read it at all.
But what if he does? What will he think? Will I hear from him? Maybe I won’t. Maybe he’ll just write to the duke. Maybe—
“Meerroooww !”
She bolted out of bed. What the hell was that? It sounded as if someone was being murdered in the garden.
She tried to open the window, but it was stuck fast. She pressed her nose against the glass, craning this way and that—there! Poppy was sitting by the back door.
As she watched, the cat let out another bloodcurdling yowl.
“All right, all right. I’ll let you in,” she muttered as she lit a candle in the fire and hurried downstairs. Poppy was going to wake the vicar if she kept this up—or more likely the Boltwood sisters, who seemed able to hear a pin drop anywhere in the village at any time of day or night.
She’d admit, though, that she was happy Poppy was back. The Spinster House had felt very lonely without her.
It’s not Poppy’s absence that’s made me feel lonely.
Sadly, that was very true. She missed Alex. She missed the intellectual stimulation and excitement of bantering with him. She missed his humor, his kindness, his male way of thinking. His voice. His . . .
Oh God, she missed his body.
She’d thought—on the rare occasions she’d thought about it at all—that losing your virginity was just that—a loss. It was the beginning of years of subjugation, the price women were forced to pay to avoid a lifetime lived in the shadows as a poor relation.
When she’d taken Alex to her bed, she hadn’t lost a thing—except her heart.
Poppy yowled again.
Lud! She needed to attend to that crazed cat before she had the village on her doorstep.
She almost ran the last few steps.
“Poppy,” she said, as she opened the door, “I—eek!”
A man was there, too, in his shirtsleeves, his coat raised in both hands—
Oh. It was Alex.
“I’m sorry, Jane.” He lowered his arms as Poppy darted past her feet. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Her heart had stopped when she’d seen him. Now it started up again with slow, painful, breath-stealing thuds.
The letter just went out this afternoon. He couldn’t have got it and come so quickly, could he?
He’s here.
“Ah.” She swallowed. Tried again. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to stop your cat from waking the neighborhood.” He sounded a little breathless, too. “And not get clawed in the process.”
“She’s not my cat.” Blast, did she sound annoyed? She wasn’t, of course. She was . . . nervous. But she saw Alex flinch slightly, his mouth twisting briefly into what looked like a grimace.
“I mean what are you doing here?” She gestured to encompass the house and the garden.
Wait—was that a horse wandering in the foliage?
“I got your letter.”
“Oh. But . . . it only went out this afternoon.” His gaze sharpened. “Did you miss me?”
“Ahh.”
“What couldn’t you put in writing?”
“Ahh.” She had to tell him she’d changed her mind and would marry him. But she’d thrown his offer back at him when she’d told him she hadn’t conceived. Perhaps he was done with her.
Cat and Imogen said he’d been in low spirits. And he was here. He’d come at once.
“I see I’ve made a mistake,” Alex was saying. “My apologies for disturbing you.” He started to turn away.
Oh, God! He was leaving. “Wait!” She lunged forward to grab his arm. She could feel his muscles under the fine lawn of his shirt. “Don’t go. You’re right. We need to talk. I need to tell you—”
The enormity of the situation struck her again and her throat closed. If she let him in now, she would go to bed with him. She knew it with the same degree of certainty that she knew the sun would rise in the morning. And if she went to bed with him again, she’d marry him and leave Loves Bridge to become a countess with all the frightening, public responsibilities that entailed.
Am I entirely certain I want that?
He’d raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish her sentence.
“Things.” She swatted at some flying insect. Her candle was beginning to attract a crowd. “I need to tell you things.”
He nodded as he picked a sizable moth off her nightgown, his hand brushing against her breast.
The accidental touch shot through her, and a predictable part of her trembled.
“I suggest we close the door then,” he said, removing yet another moth from her hair.
“Yes. Do come in.” She backed up and he stepped over the threshold, shutting the door behind him.
And somehow sucking all the air out of the room.
He smiled. “I take it you don’t mind moths?”
“Ahh, no. Just spiders. And mice.” Think. Breathe. Tell him you love him. That you’ll marry him.
What if he’s changed his mind and doesn’t want to marry me?
Why would he have ridden all the way from Evans Hall if he’d changed his mind?
“Y- you got my letter?” she asked as she lit the candle in the wall sconce and then blew hers out. She was shaking too much to be trusted with fire.
Of course he’d got her letter. He’d just said so. He would think she’d lost her wits completely.
He nodded. “Yes. Do you want me to put my coat back on?”
His coat? Oh, right. It was rather scandalous that he was here in his shirtsleeves, but then she was here in her nightgown.
And I’ve already seen everything his clothes hide.
Her heart—and other parts—throbbed.
“No.”
She wanted him to drop the blasted coat and bring her up against him. To kiss her and make love to her so she didn’t have to say anything.
He stayed with his back to the door, coat clutched in his hands almost like a shield.
Poppy came back, perhaps to see what was keeping them, and found a moth that had flown in before the door shut. She pounced on it and then batted it around on the floor.
“What couldn’t you put in the letter, Jane?”
She tore her eyes away from Poppy’s antics to look back at Alex. His face was guarded.
This is ridiculous. Where is my courage? I’ve never been a cowering, pigeon-hearted female before.
She raised her chin. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll marry you”—her voice faltered—“that is, if you still want to marry me.”
His smile was blinding but sadly, brief. “I thought you didn’t want to be a countess.”
“Right. I would rather not, but I realize there’s no way around it if I’m going to marry you.” She frowned. “It would be so much easier if you weren’t an earl, you know.”
He raised a brow. “Would you rather I be a penniless itinerant, like Mr. Wertigger, perhaps?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No. But maybe a nice, solid farmer.”
“Like Mr. Barker.”
She laughed. “No, not like Mr. Barker.”
Alex smiled in an encouraging fashion. “In a way, I am a farmer. Much of my wealth and my attention is on my lands and crops.”
“You are not a farmer.”
He shrugged, clearly deciding not to brangle with her further on that head. “And I’m afraid you will have to leave the village and come live with me.” He leered at her. “It will not be at all convenient for me to have my wife so far away.” He grinned. “And I believe once we exchange our vows, you will be ineligible to continue on here.”
She frowned. “I do not like change, you know.”
“No? Excellent. I certainly don’t wish to worry that you’ll be thinking of changing husbands.”
She glared at him. “And don’t think to be taking mistresses. I will not stand for that sort of behavior.”
He waggled his brows. “Good. If our night at Loves Castle is any indication, I’ll have no time or energy for a mistress—I’ll be worn to a thread keeping you satisfied.”
She flushed, remembering all too well what they’d done at the castle—which she’d like to do again. But not yet.
“I have no experience with servants, you know, or with running any household larger than Randolph’s.”
“Jane, you’re intelligent and capable—you’ve run Randolph’s business since you were fourteen, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And really, Mrs. Frampton, my housekeeper, is very good at what she does. She’ll likely be just as happy if you don’t meddle too much with her system.” His grin turned a bit lascivious. “I’m not out to hire a steward or estate manager, Jane. I want a wife.”
Alex had grown up in the peerage. He had no idea what a change this would be for her. “I can’t spend my entire life in your bed, you know.”
His smile turned positively lecherous. “That’s a pity.” He stepped closer. “My estates have run well enough without a countess, Jane. Don’t worry. If you find something you enjoy doing, then do it. Otherwise”—if it was possible to look even more lecherous, he did—“you can help me secure the succession.”
“But what about your London town house and other obligations?” She stepped back. “I’ve never even been to London.”
“Then I’ll enjoy showing you the sights.”
“I don’t know the first thing about being a countess. All your friends will laugh at me.”
“They will not. My closest friends are Marcus and Nate, and they will be delighted.” He smiled. “As will their wives.”
“I’m twenty-eight. Firmly—happily”—until now—“on the shelf. Are you certain you wish to marry me?”
“Yes.” He cupped her face. “Jane, I’ll confess I thought I was in love with Charlotte earlier this year. Having her jilt me, realizing she’d never loved me . . . well, it shook my confidence. But what I feel for you . . .” He smiled. “What I felt for Charlotte is nothing at all like what I feel for you. I know now that when I offered for her it was the idea of marriage and family that I loved, not, I’m embarrassed to say, Charlotte.” He sighed. “I never really knew her. The woman I thought she was was a figment of my imagination.”
“Why do you think you know me?”
“Don’t I?” He swept an errant tear away with his thumb—she hadn’t realized she was crying. “Aren’t you a fiercely independent, intelligent woman who cares deeply for the few”—he smiled—“the very few people you let get close to you?”
She flushed. “You flatter me.”
He grinned. “Then let me rephrase that. You’re a stubborn, infuriating, maddening female who gives no quarter in an argument”—his smile turned heated—“or in bed. And I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
“Nonsense. I’m nothing of the sort.”
That surprised a snort of laughter from him. “Right. My mistake. You’re a meek, quiet Miss. Everyone says so.”
She had to laugh at that.
He smiled, but then his expression turned serious. “Marry me, Jane. We’ll face the challenges that come together.”
She looked at him, caught in the moment of decision. She could hold to the past and the comfort habit and familiarity brought or she could take his hand and jump into the unknown.
She would be brave.
She closed the last distance between them, putting her hands on his chest. “Yes, Alex. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Jane!” His voice held joy and relief and passion. His arms went round her, crushing her to him with a need she shared, and then his mouth came down on hers.
Ahh. This was what she wanted. She parted her lips and welcomed him in, pressing up against him, pulling his shirt from his pantaloons, running her hands up his hard, muscled back. This was what she’d missed.
His lips had moved to her neck, so her mouth was free. “Come upstairs, Alex. Come to bed.”
“Can’t.” His hand cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her nightgown. “I left Primrose loose in your garden, still saddled and bridled.”
“Primrose?” Her hands had dived down to cup his arse and pull him closer.
“Horse.” He was panting. “Been riding Horatio into the ground.” He paused to grin at her. “Horatio and O’Reilly, my head groom, will be so happy I can”—his lips turned up into a slight leer—“ride something—someone—else now.”
She took advantage while he spoke to slip the first buttons on his fall free.
He frowned. “Remember. Primrose.”
“Primrose can wait.” She rubbed against the prominent bulge straining against his fall. “But I can’t. I need you now. Part of me is literally crying for you. It’s wet and—”
And he covered his ears with his hands. “Primrose. In your garden.”
She took the opportunity to pull off her nightgown so she stood naked in front of him. Then she lifted her arms and started to loosen her braid. “It won’t take long. I think I’ll come apart the moment you touch me.”
His face was tense with need. “I’m trying to be noble.”
“You are noble. You’re an earl.” She came back to free his fall’s straining buttons before they popped.
He didn’t try to stop her. Instead his hands went to stroke her naked arse. “I—I doubt P-Poppy will approve.”
He didn’t try to stop her. Instead his hands went to stroke her naked arse. “I-I doubt P-Poppy will approve.”
“I think she will. She didn’t object at the castle. In fact, I suspect she instigated our union.” There was one more button left. Jane paused to address the cat. “What do you say, Poppy?”
They both looked down to see Poppy licking her paws. There was no sign of the moth. Had she eaten it?
Ugh. Best not think about that.
Poppy paused long enough to blink at them and yawn—and then she returned to her toilet.
“I’d say she approves.” Jane worked the last button free and Alex’s lovely, long, thick male bit sprang out into her hands. “Or at least she doesn’t object.”
Alex made a sound that was a cross between a grunt and a groan. Then he scooped her up and carried her to the sitting room settee.
“I’ll never make it upstairs to your bed,” he said as he deposited her on the less-than-comfortable piece of furniture.
Comfort didn’t matter.
“Neither will I.” Jane jerked his pantaloons down to his thighs.
“Let me get my boots off first.”
“No time for that, either.”
Their joining wasn’t polished or elegant or graceful. It also wasn’t long. On his first thrust, the now-familiar waves of pleasure spread through her. On his second, his warm seed flooded her. This time she welcomed it, hoped it would take root and would give them a child.
But if it didn’t, she looked forward to trying again.
And again.
“Lord, Jane, you are going to be the end of me,” Alex said, lifting himself off her. “You are a witch.”
She grinned. “That’s been said of the Spinster House spinster before.”
“I’ve said it to you before, if you’ll remember.” He fastened his pantaloons—she stayed sprawled naked on the settee, enjoying the way his eyes studied her.
“I believe you also told me I have a lusty nature and will require a lot of ‘vigorous tupping’ to keep me content.” She grinned. “I hope you are prepared to perform your marital duties, my lord.”
“God save me, I shall attempt to, er, rise to the occasion.” He scooped up her nightgown and tossed it at her. “And now, Primrose awaits—patiently, I hope.”
Lud, she wished Alex didn’t have to leave. “You aren’t going to ride all the way back to Evans Hall tonight, are you?”
“No.” He tugged on his jacket. “I’m going to stop at the castle and see if they’ll let me stay the night.”
Jane brightened. “You can stay here.”
He frowned at her, even though he looked tempted. “No, I cannot. Remember Primrose.”
“There’s a stable of sorts outside.”
“Of sorts being the point. We—Primrose and I—looked at it and found it wanting.”
Well, yes, likely it was on the verge of collapse. None of the spinsters she knew had kept a horse.
“And by stopping at the castle I can tell Marcus and Cat our good news and discover if they object to us marrying here the day of the christening. That is, if the plan suits you, of course. I favor it because Nate and Anne would be able to attend, but if you prefer, we can choose a different day.” He grinned. “But not too far off, if you please. We must consider your lusty nature.”
Her lusty nature wanted to drag him up to her bedroom and never let him leave.
“The day of the christening is fine if Cat and the duke agree.” Jane would be happy to marry Alex here in the drawing room with only two witnesses, just as the Duke and Duchess of Benton had, but the christening was next week. She could wait that long. And she didn’t want their marriage to appear a completely harum-scarum affair.
“Excellent. I’ll talk to the vicar in the morning.”
“And then stop here?” Perhaps she could lure him upstairs....
“No.” He laughed. “I know what that look in your eyes means. You are not going to have me again until we say our vows before God and man.”
“That sounds like a challenge.” She stood, dropping her nightgown on the floor.
He picked it up and handed it to her.
She reached for him instead, but he evaded her grasp—and then Poppy planted herself between them.
“Excuse me, Poppy,” she said, moving to step around the cat.
“Merrow!” Poppy swiped at her naked foot, missing it by an inch—perhaps on purpose.
“I believe that was a warning,” Alex said. “Poppy agrees it’s time for me to go.” He headed for the door.
“I don’t know why.” Jane grudgingly put on the nightgown. “She didn’t complain before.”
“Perhaps she’s in communication with Primrose,” he said, and then laughed when Jane gave him an incredulous look. “You must agree nothing about Poppy is normal.”
“True.” And Poppy looks rather smug about that.
“After I talk to the vicar, I’ll ride for London to get the marriage license and break the news of our wedding to my mother and sister.” He frowned. “They will want to come, of course. I’d better mention that to Marcus in case it affects his feelings on having a joint celebration. This might turn out to be a rather large party, since Diana will wish to bring all the children.”
Jane’s stomach fluttered with something other than desire. Imogen’s father hadn’t wanted Imogen to waste herself on a solicitor’s son. Alex’s family might feel the same about him marrying a solicitor’s sister.
“Will they approve of me? I’m not much of a catch for an earl.”
He laughed. “You must be kidding. They’ll be delighted. Didn’t you see how they were trying to push us together at Chanton Manor?”
She’d suspected Diana, at least, had ulterior motives when she’d sent her down to the lake where Alex was swimming.
“Don’t worry,” he said, giving her a quick—a far too quick—kiss. “They’ll be happy because I’m happy. And I am happy—very, very happy.”
He grinned at her and then he left.
“He did look happy, didn’t he, Poppy?”
Poppy yawned—which in this case Jane would take for agreement—and then headed upstairs.
“I suppose it is time for bed,” Jane said, following behind. She wished her companion was Alex, but in less than a week, she’d be married. Which raised another question.
“What’s going to become of you and the Spinster House, Poppy? I don’t think any new Spinster House candidates have come to Loves Bridge since the lottery last year.”
Poppy paused to look back at her and give her an inscrutable smile before running up the rest of the steps.