She smiled, though he could see the apprehension in her gaze. Then she gave a tight nod, turned, and headed out the window without a fuss.
He gaped at the empty rectangle, wondering if he’d been caught up in a dream.
He raced to the window and stared down, watching her shimmy along the tree as if she’d been born to it.
It was hard to believe that she was indeed a young lady of theton. Jack looked like she should be aboard some ship, scaling its mast.
Jack.
Yes, he remembered her. He remembered the way that she’d been wild and free like all children should be, and how in his own heart, he had been breaking at every moment, desperate to get away from his family.
How he’d envied the Peabodys, and now it seemed they all envied him.
How strange life was.
If only she knew the truth…
He gripped his windowsill until he felt the wood press hard into his palms. He was not prepared to tell anyone about the severity of his past. He had a distinct feeling that if he opened that door, he’d never be able to close it.
How would he survive that?
No, he’d gotten through this life on gregariousness. He enjoyed life. He wasn’t afraid of it, and he embraced it. So many people went about being unhappy and determined to be disappointed with their lot in life.
He’d been given so much, and he was going to enjoy every damn bit of it. It was a damned shame that Jack could not avoid the noose of marriage as he could.
Or at least he could for as long as possible.
She hungered for freedom and independence so much, he wished with every fiber of his being that he could give it to her.
For one moment, he wondered what it would be like to take her in his arms, to tilt her head to the side, and to kiss that cheeky mouth that said such glib things to him.
He shoved the thought away quickly, because it was toopleasant.
He turned back and strode to the brandy. Swiftly, he poured himself a large snifter. He’d have to see her brother tomorrow, and he needed to remind himself that Jack was and always would be beyond his touch. She was his best friend’s sister.
He would never be able to take her in his arms.
He would never be able to kiss her.
He would never be able to see if she was as passionate in an embrace as she was in life, because he did not ruin young ladies. And he most certainly wouldn’t ruin her life by marrying her.
He tossed back his snifter of brandy and abruptly recalled that he was supposed to have a meeting with an opera singer this night.
Genevieve Marceau was waiting for him.
And yet he found that he had absolutely no desire to see her. His wicked, traitorous thoughts were taken up entirely with something different.
With Jack and everything that she loved and everything she was passionate about.
Memories came flooding back to him of the happy days he’d spent with her in their youth. Of the joyful freedom that had lit her face.
A slow smile tilted his lips as a rather terrible but wonderful idea occurred to him. He all but sprinted to his desk in search of quill and ink…a list of perfect, convenient husbands for her purpose dancing through his head.
Chapter Three
Several years previously…
James cowered as a Venetian goblet crashed against the blue silk brocade wall. Wine left its dark stain as the liquid drenched the fabric, blooming outward.