“I give you fair warning, sir, that it will not work with me.”
“But it already has.” At her questioning look, he elaborated. “You’re sitting on the cushions, are you not?”
Claire pursed her lips in response, but could not maintain the righteous indignation. Her lips eased and she shared a tentatively amused smile with him.
“There it is,” Jacob said softly. His heart beat a bit harder at the sight of her smile. “You really shouldn’t scrimp on your smiles. They have the power to make men do foolish things.”
Heat flooded Claire’s cheeks; she was sure her face was bright red and knew that it wasn’t from sitting too close to the fire. “Foolish things like what?” she asked.
“Fishing for compliments?” he teased. “It can make a man requisition a tray for toasties and spread cushions on the floor just for the promise of seeing that smile.”
“I never asked—”
“I know.”
Claire couldn’t seem to break away from his gaze. The dratted firelight still prevented a clear view of his eyes, but she could feel their power settling over her. “Do you need your spectacles?” she blurted without thought. “I beg your pardon. Of course you need them; you wear them all the time.”
“Actually, I don’t need them.” Jacob slid them off his face and folded them up, sliding them into his shirt pocket. “They’re made of glass. I wear them so others will take me seriously as a tutor. They are merely a prop for the image I wish to convey.”
The clear, unhindered view of his eyes stole Claire’s breath away. When she had first seen them upon his arrival, the pale blueness had brought to mind ice. But now, experiencing the smile imbedded in them, the appreciation—how could
ice
be so warm? No, the color now reminded her of a robin’s egg, and just as that egg holds the promise of new life, his eyes also held a promise. But of what?
Regaining control of her wits, Claire focused on what he had said. “Why do you feel compelled to give the image of a tutor? You are one; there is no need to project a false idea of who you are.”
Jacob remained silent, unable to speak. Another mistake. And given how perceptive this young governess was, he could not afford another one, lest his ruse be discovered.
Claire held out her hand and broke the moment. “Pass me the toasting fork.”
Jacob grabbed it but refused to relinquish it. “Oh no, this is my treat for you. I am doing the work.”
“It is hardly work to hold a piece of bread over embers.”
“Ah, but when I make toasties, there is more to it than that. It is a veritable art form.”
Claire smirked. “An art form?”
Jacob took a piece of bread and a knife. “Oh yes. I assure you my toasties were famous in my school halls. Many a young boy and chap would come, begging for a late-night nibble. Once, I even hosted my tutor for an evening meal.”
Claire laughed, the image of a younger Jacob Knightly serving his tutor a cheese toastie. “Did he enjoy it?”
Jacob shot her a look, letting her how ridiculous he thought her question. “Of course. But the point of the toastie was not to impress him, but rather distract him from discovering I had yet again not completed my work.” He began buttering one side of the bread before slipping it onto the toasting fork. Claire watched his hands as they gently clasped the handle, cradling the metal device in his fingers. She wondered how it would feel to have those fingers cradle her cheek at this moment—would they be cool from the metal or warm from the fire? She cleared her throat.
“And did that work?”
“No.” A sheepish smile accompanied his answer, eliciting a giggle from her.
“I think you likely received your just desserts for that.”
Jacob looked at her with mock severity. “Don’t be so quick to judge, my dear. I highly doubt you were the model pupil to your own governesses.”
“You think I had more than one?” The heat of the fire must be relaxing her. Claire’s wariness had all melted away, and she began to recline on the piled cushions.
“Doesn’t every girl go through more than one governess?”
“What makes you think I even had a one?”
“For starters,” Jacob pulled the piece of toast from the embers and repeated the process with another piece of bread, “you are educated. That came from somewhere.”
“It could have been my mother or a school,” Claire argued.
Jacob stopped what he was doing and looked her directly in the eye. “Was it?”
The straightforwardness of his gaze and his question pierced through to the inside of her chest. He was dangerous when being sincere. Claire much preferred him this way to his arrogant demeanor, but knew it would behoove her to remember to tread carefully.
She sat up. “No. You were correct, but I only had one governess.”
“A model pupil then.” Jacob pulled the second piece of toast out. Claire watched as he placed a slice of cheese on either piece of toast and a thin wafer of ham on before folding them together to make a sandwich. Expecting him to hand it to her, she was surprised when he maneuvered the sandwich back onto the toasting fork and returned it to the heat.
“Perhaps not so model, but a patient governess,” Claire said.
“So what happened?” Jacob had been waiting to try again at uncovering her past.
“What do you mean?”
“Your parents were well off enough to afford a governess for their daughter. Why did you have to become one yourself?”
“I am not comfortable with the direction of this conversation,” Claire said. “It doesn’t seem an appropriate time.”
Jacob pulled the sandwich out of the fire and placed it on a plate before handing it to her. “Careful, it’s hot. Give it a few moments to cool.” He watched as Claire lifted the plate and puckered her lips, slowly blowing air onto the sandwich to cool it. The sight of her lips, rounded as for a kiss, sent his pulse racing.
She took a bite. “Oh, it’s hot!”
“I warned you.” He poured her a glass of wine.
She gave him an impish smile and accepted the offered glass. “I struggle with patience, especially when there is a treat involved. But you were telling the truth; this toastie is delicious. Much better than I have ever made.”
He began to prepare another one. “That should teach you to doubt my word.”
“In my defense, you did not precisely act trustworthy when you first arrived.”
Claire saw his entire body still. Tension rippled through the air. “Whatever do you mean?” He tried for a nonchalant tone.
“May I be honest?”
“By all means.”
Claire took another bite of her toastie, savoring the taste of the warmed cheese and ham on her tongue. “Your initial arrogance was very off-putting. It did not endear you in any way.”
“My initial arrogance? Does that mean your impression has changed?” He sat back with his toastie and faced her.
Claire smiled. “You have made some improvement; your company has become more tolerable.”
“Your flattery knows no bounds,” Jacob replied wryly. He enjoyed seeing that twinkle in her eyes.
Claire laughed, a husky chuckle that went straight to his groin. Images of hearing that chuckle in his bed with her naked form twined around him flooded his brain. Sweet Mary, but it was warm in this nursery.
“Despite these improvements, however, you still feel you cannot confide in me,” Jacob turned the conversation to less physically straining topics. “ What better time to share a burden? It is merely you and I and the fire.” He saw her hesitate again, glancing down at her half-eaten sandwich. “I admit to some selfishness here, Claire. You intrigue me; I wish to know more about you. More importantly, I want you to trust me.”
Claire looked up at him, her eyes clouded with uncertainty. It struck Jacob that he had been very mistaken about her eyes. They weren’t a mossy green, but rather grassy, emeraldy, a combination of all three. The different shades played together harmoniously, each allowing the others moments to shine. When she laughed, the emeralds twinkled with delight; when angered, the grass snapped; when content, the moss softened. This look, this confused uncertainty, blended all three into a shade he had never seen before, yet the impact thudded in his gut and echoed throughout his veins. At this moment in time, he would do whatever it took to banish that look from her eyes forever but had no idea how to accomplish it. God help him, he never wanted her to feel this again.
He
never wanted to feel this again.
Having never felt a symbiotic emotional experience, Jacob was shaken. Shoving the rest of the toastie in his mouth, he wiped his hands and poured himself some wine to wash it down. He needed some distance. “But you can keep your secrets if you wish. It makes no difference to me,” he said around a mouthful of toastie. The wine quickly disappeared from his cup and he poured himself another.
He made the mistake of glancing at Claire. Her gaze distant, her face was turned toward the fire. The light caught her dark hair, sending slivers of gold swimming through her loosened coif. Some strands had escaped and fallen along her cheek, her soft cheek being caressed by the warm firelight.
Before he even knew what he was doing, Jacob had reached out and tucked the strands behind her ear. When she turned to look at him, it was natural to cup her cheek. Sweet Mary, but her cheekbones were magnificent.
Claire’s breath hitched and her eyes slid shut as his thumb traced her cheekbone. She was not ignorant of relations between men and women, but it had been so long since a man had touched her; being constantly surrounded by children tended to daunt even the bravest of men. She hadn’t even realized how much she missed having a beau’s attention.
Feeling the cushions around her shift, Claire half opened her eyes to see Jacob moving toward her. His face intent, his eyes focused on her, his arm slid around her shoulders, and he gently lifted her chin with two fingers. Studying her face up close for a moment, he lowered his mouth toward her.
Claire could not mistake his intentions. Dear Lord, was this happening? Did she
want
this to happen? With Mr. Knightly? She could not deny that he was handsome, and she had not lied earlier when she said his company had improved upon her, but did she esteem him to the extent of wanting to encourage a deeper relationship with him?
Her moment of indecision nearly took the choice away from her. At the last moment, she turned her head, and his lips met her cheek rather than her mouth. Sensations swirled at the touch of his strong, warm lips against her skin, spiraling all the way down to her belly. Her eyes slid shut again when he continued to press little kisses, following her cheekbone in the direction of her ear. She instinctively tilted her head to give him better access.
Instead of capturing her ear, Jacob surprised her by going for her chin. “You have some cheese here,” he murmured, licking it off before pressing his lips to the same spot. “Mmm, cheddar has never tasted so good.”
Horrified, Claire pulled away and fumbled for a napkin, handkerchief, anything to wipe her face. How embarrassing to be caught with food on her face!
But Jacob merely pulled her back into his embrace, raising his own handkerchief to wipe the offending spot. He smiled. “Better?”
Claire was sure her face was fifty shades of scarlet. She could barely speak, the conflicting emotions of pleasurable tension and embarrassment closing her throat. Jacob tightened his arm around her shoulders and rubbed her arm, staring into the fire.
Slowly, Claire began to relax and became aware of all the surrounding sensations. Pressed against his side, she became aware of a physical strength his loose clothing hid; the arm around her was heavy with muscle, but comfortingly so, not intimidating in any sense. A mixture of bay rum and wine fused together and wafted around her, giving him a unique scent that raised the little hairs on her arm. Claire felt the sudden urge to press her nose to his neck and inhale deeply. Instead, she focused on the heat shifting from his body to hers, threatening her muscles with languid contentment.
She could not stop the sigh escaping from her nor the shift in her body, pressing her deeper into his embrace, lulled by his heat and the steady stroking of her upper arm. Good heavens, but this was nice.
Jacob did not attempt to break the silence; it was Claire who spoke first.
“I was betrothed, once.”
The stroking paused for a moment, the only indication that he heard her; Jacob remained silent.
“His name was Thomas, and he served as a footman to the lady who employed me as a companion. She was old and frail, but kindhearted. As first positions go, I was incredibly fortunate and enjoyed working for her.
“Thomas was smart and ambitious; he intended to work his way up to butler. Of course he knew that it was unlikely in Lady Allen’s household. No one expected her to live much longer than two more years. But still, he had dreams.”
The arm stroking stopped, but Jacob didn’t release her. “What happened?”
“I never expected to find romance, but he made me laugh. The first time he did, it felt like I hadn’t laughed in years. And I hadn’t. My mother died when I was fifteen, and my father fell into a decline after that. He slowly withered away. When he could be stirred to do anything, it was thoughtless and mediocre work. Bad investments and lack of caring to correct our situation led to depleted finances. My father was merely a country squire, but we had been comfortable, and I had no reason to believe that I would have to someday earn my own keep.
“At a time when I should have been going to assemblies and meeting eligible gentlemen appropriate to my station, I was caring for my ailing father and trying to manage the household finances—and failing miserably. When he finally died, the first thing I felt was relief. Relief that it was over. The second thing I felt was guilt. What sort of daughter feels relief that a parent died?”
“He had been sucking away your life, leeching away your youth. It is understandable to feel relief.”
“A month after he died, the collectors came. They took everything. I was allowed one bag to carry my clothes, but I was to leave Ridgestone and everything I had known. I sat on the cart, watching my home disappear, and I made two promises. One was to never be in debt to anyone, and the other was to one day return to Ridgestone as its mistress and owner.”