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The young lady was decidedly nervous, lowering a hand to fidget with the edge of the wrap. The motion drew his gaze to the soft fabric where her fingers toyed with it. Barclay found himself ill-equipped for the situation, taking several moments to respond because of his scrambled wits. He would not usually be speaking with a young woman in her nightclothes, but as they were both considered family of the earl, staying in the same wing, there was nothing particularly improper about it with Tatiana acting as a chaperon of sorts.

He found his tongue. “Not at all. I hope she is not bothering you?”

Jane smiled, the curving of her pink bow lips lighting her face with unexpected charm. Good heavens, she was lovely.

“Tatiana is good company. She could never bother me.”

“Papa, Jane said she would read me Ladin, and the Lamp. Can she put me to bed tonight?”

“Tatiana, I would not want to impose on the young lady. During your bedtime, she should attend the games in the parlor.”

“I can come up and read to her. No one will miss me if I leave for a short time after dinner.”

“I would not wish to interrupt your entertainment.”

Jane shook her head. “It is no bother. I miss my younger brothers and sister, so this will be fun for me … unless I am imposing?” Her face fell, and she appeared genuinely disappointed. “Would you prefer to do it? I can lend you my book.”

Barclay was grateful for the reminder of their age disparity. He had just caught a whiff of the strawberries, cream, and almonds clinging to her skin, and the scent was unexpectedly soothing.

Clearing his throat, he struggled to recall her question as his breathing evened out. Tearing his gaze away from those fascinating ice-blue eyes that reminded him of a frozen lake in winter, he composed himself before replying, “Tatiana does not like my reading. She says I do the voices wrong. If you are sure it is not an imposition …” He looked back at her, and she shook her head once more. “… then we would be honored if you would join her at bedtime … for a short time, mind you. I do not wish to take you away from your leisure.”

Both girls clapped their hands at the news. Jane’s smile widened, her eyes brightening with happiness. She is so lovely, he thought, and it struck him that the word sweet suited her. Not just in her appearance but in her nature.

And far too young, you fool.

Had visiting his father’s home somehow triggered his own roguish impulses? He must set aside these musings before they grew any stronger. Steeling his nerve in the manner he would when entering a tough negotiation, Barclay took Tatiana’s little hand in his.

“Come, little one. I wish to play some chess with you in the library.”

Tatiana beamed. “Good. Ethan made me play after cricket yesterday, and he beat me. It was most embarrassing. I should have paid more attention when you were teaching me to play.”

“We will improve your skills.” He gave a brief bow. “We shall see you later, Jane?”

Jane inclined her head in agreement, then gently closed the door as they walked away.

While Tatiana chattered about the beauty treatment that she and Jane had partaken in, Barclay scolded himself mentally. No matter how charming or kind the young woman was, it bore remembering that she was not for him. She could make a much better match than a man born on the wrong side of the blanket who also happened to be at least fourteen years her senior.

This attraction was … so inconvenient.

He really needed to find someone more suitable if he was to hunt for a new wife. When he was finished with his chess game, he would seek out Mrs. Gordon. She was good company and pleasing to the eye, not to mention mature enough to mother a nine-year-old girl.

Chapter Five

"Birth and good manners are essential."

Jane Austen

* * *

Jane was a keen observer of people, thus she wondered what she had done to anger the widower. One moment, he had been gazing at her with admiration, so that she had swayed toward him. The next, he had been staring at the ceiling, his jaw tight and his husky voice tighter when he next spoke.

Closing the door on the retreating pair, she turned and leaned against it. The cool wood pressed against her back, grounding her in the moment. Brushing her fingertips over her lips, she wondered what it might be like to kiss such a man. He smelled of leather, ink, and some sort of spice she could not quite place, a fragrance that lingered in the air long after he had departed. Her fingers drifted to her cheeks, which still felt warm from his presence, and she wanted—with every ounce of her being—to reach out a hand and feel the shape of his broad chest. To lean in and feel the roughness of his beard against her skin as their lips met in a moment of intense affinity.

She had been kissed a couple of times, as a girl back in Derby, when she had been the daughter of a tenant farmer. It had been pleasant, but nothing momentous.

When her sister and Perry had met, Jane had seen the sparks flying. Their passion for each other, despite their constant confrontations, had been unmistakable, and Jane had lamented in the recesses of her mind that she had never felt such intensity for a man before.

Gentlemen had pursued her, especially now that she was a member of the gentry. Jane knew well that she was a woman of fine looks. Her ink-black curls were often admired, and her eyes, a piercing blue, had been compared to sapphire glass. Today, she wore a day dress of soft muslin in pale lavender, the kind of elegant simplicity she had become accustomed to since living at Saunton Park. She had excellent prospects. Yet she wanted to find what Emma had—a deep understanding with a gentleman that transcended society’s expectations. She wanted to find her Darcy, no matter how much Emma teased her for her whimsy.