by Emma Sloane
“Are you finished?” Lucas asked patiently.
Jane chewed on her bottom lip as she revisited her words. “Yes, I think so.
Have I missed anything?”
“You never do when it comes to words, Jane,” he answered, playfully chucking her under the chin.
His warm fingers lingered against her bare skin, the pad of his thumb gently stroking the curve of her cheek.
“Then you’re not angry with me?” she murmured, her voice throaty with emotion.
“I was never angry, Jane,” he answered, releasing her chin and stepping
back to lean against Reginald’s stall door. “I could never be angry with you.”
Relief flooded Jane’s senses. “You’ve no idea how thankful I am to hear that.”
She dropped Reginald’s lead and threw herself at Lucas, wrapping her arms about his neck and enveloping him in a heartfelt hug. He smelled of sandalwood and the tangy sea he traveled far too often.
Despite the thickness of the greatcoats that separated them, she was vividly aware of the controlled strength and power in his much bigger body. “So many things are changing, Lucas. I don’t think I could bear to lose you, too.”
“What things?” Lucas replied, gently grasping Jane about the waist and easing her a few inches away until her body no longer rested against his.
Jane’s one regret was telling Lucas the truth. She’d foolishly whispered a feverish confession that she cared deeply for him, whilst attempting to land an unpracticed kiss on his neck.
The question, asked in Lucas’s deep, drawling tone, raised goose bumps on her skin at the same time heat flushed her body, and Jane shivered involuntarily. She stepped back, putting more space between them before turning and taking up Reginald’s lead in an attempt to hide her response. “My luck.”
“Is that so?” Lucas asked sardonically, pushing off from the wall to move closer.
Jane clucked for Reginald to step forward; her tongue felt suddenly thick and twisted. “It is. Mother has found me a husband.”
Lucas fell into line behind her. “You’ve received a proposal?” The disbelief coating his query made Jane wince.
The small donkey obeyed and docilely walked into his stall. She checked to make sure Reginald’s hindquarters had cleared the stall door, then stepped back into the aisle, pushed the door shut, and slid the lock home. “Not yet. But Lady Pearson’s nephew has come for the holidays and my mother is intent on capturing him for our very own—as am I, to be completely honest.”
Jane paused and looked down at her father’s shabby coat, which concealed an equally worn morning gown.
Lucas searched her face. “Is this what you want? Is he what you want?”
Jane leaned wearily against the rough wood door and allowed his voice, his very nearness, to soothe her. “It is what I need, Lucas.”
She looked up and peered into his eyes, expecting to find relief there. But his features were curiously devoid of expression. She thought she saw indifference but couldn’t be sure.
“Then you shall have him.”