“Will you not wait for my reply, Lady Jane? It’s customary to delay departing until you’ve heard an answering good night.”
With her hand upon the door-knob, she waited, counting each beat of her heart. She got to twenty before she realized he wasn’t going to say good night. He wouldn’t allow her to escape this humiliation. Seeing her hopes of marriage to her duke disappear altogether, she turned, slowly. “Was there something you wished to discuss, Your Grace?”
He moved toward her, the offending charcoal in his long fingered hand. His black breeches fit him like a second skin, highlighting the strength of his muscled thighs. Broad shoulders filled his elegant, superbly fitted evening coat. She was made further aware of her state of undress by the contrast of his clothing to hers. Her feet were bare. Curling her toes beneath the hem of her dressing gown, she truly wished the floor would open up and swallow her.
The picture was there, between them. She would not look at it again. She could not. Her gaze remained on his face, noting that his lips were perfection, not too full, not too thin. His eyes were dark, as was his hair. Winged brows rose above those eyes. The duke had an unnatural ability to move them about, making his wishes clear without making a sound. It was said that entire armies of servants and underlings jumped to the command of one single set of eyebrows.
The only feature he possessed that was not handsome was his nose. Slightly on the long side, it was a true Roman nose that otherwise marred the perfection of his face. Jane loved that part of him best of all.
At the moment, he stared down that length with a firm look that neither approved, nor disapproved. “You will, of course, explain to me how you knew this charcoal was hiding in Mr. Paisley’s boring discourse.”
“I should be only too happy to explain, if I had prior knowledge of it.”
“You did not?”
“I did not.”
“Then you will tell me when your interest was sparked by the societal study of Australian aboriginal tribes.”
She’d really rather not. If she lied and claimed a true interest, he might see her as a bluestocking. But to tell the truth, that she was desirous of seeing for herself what a male member looked like, would surely cause him to look upon her as a naughty woman. Or worse, an inquisitive child. Her mind cast about for possible explanations, but she realized, as he stood there staring at her, he already knew. Lying could only make the situation worse –if that were possible. Blushing so fiercely, she feared her face must surely catch fire, she murmured, “Mere curiosity brought me to the library, Your Grace. I can only plead your pardon and indulgence in not judging me too harshly.”
He stepped closer and held the charcoal so that the candlelight shone on the man. And his member. “It’s not a very good sketch, is it?”
Jane cleared her throat, never taking her eyes from his face. “Having no point of reference, Your Grace, I wouldn’t know.”
His gaze met hers. “You’re mortified, are you not?”
“Quite so.”
“It occurs to me that your embarrassment extends only to this badly rendered drawing of a naked man. That you are wandering about Lady Bonderant’s home, half dressed, in the middle of the night, appears not to bother you at all.”
“On the contrary. It’s only that the picture in your hand is of such breathtaking humiliation, my state of dishabille and the late hour pale in comparison.”
He stared at her again. After a time, he said in a low, modulated voice, “You wish to marry me.” It was baldly stated.
“Yes, Your Grace. Above all things.”
“And you believe this episode has ruined your chances.”
She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I am quickly coming to that conclusion, yes. You’re known for your insistence upon decorum, and this can hardly be considered decorous behavior on my part.”
“No, it cannot. It’s shocking, actually.”
Her heart sank. She was doomed. Letitia Rawlings would marry her duke and Jane would die of a broken heart.
“Though not at all surprising.”
Eyes wide, she jerked her gaze to his. “I beg your pardon?”
“I daresay curiosity concerning the opposite sex is a natural thing, perhaps more pointed in yourself because of your nature and your advancing years.”
“I am eighteen!”
Something glittered in his dark eyes. Not humor. The duke was not a man for humor. What then? She swallowed.
“You might have waited merely a few months, Lady Jane, and put your curiosity to rest in the same manner as all gently bred young ladies who become brides. As it is, you’ve put yourself into a compromising position.”