He passed his gaze over Jane’s heart-shaped face. Gabriel did not speak on matters of intimacy with anyone. Not his kin and not his lone friend in the world. However, he suspected the end of Chloe’s naiveté had come very early on at the brutal hands of their sire. But what of Jane? The bitter young woman who’d only known a mother? She shifted under his focus. “When did you stop believing in fairytales?” Again, a terribly bold question given life by too many spirits and the early morn hours.
“When I realized—” Jane closed her lips tight, ending whatever that revealing piece of herself she kept close. She jumped to her feet. “I should seek my chambers,” she confessed, eying him as though he were the wolf mingling with the unsuspecting sheep.
“Yes,” he concurred. He remained frozen, with his stillness conveying her safety.
Jane lingered. She met his gaze with her own. “You needn’t worry that I will encourage flights of fancy in your sister. I will not fill her head with fairytales and romantic hopes.”
“Because you do not believe in them?” he shot back.
“Because I am practical and logical enough to know the perils in entrusting one’s heart to someone unworthy of that precious gift.”
She’d had her heart broken. Why did a wave of jealousy roll through him at that revelation? In their earlier discussions, he’d surmised that Mr. Munroe had been nothing more than a fictional figure. Now, he was presented with the ugly possibility of some bounder who’d forced Jane to adopt a false married title. Gabriel swiped his empty snifter from the side table. With glass in hand, he rose in one fluid motion and carried it over to the sideboard. He poured himself another drink and turning back, held it up in salute. “For all we’ve disagreed on, Jane, we are of a remarkably like opinion in this regard.” After years of protecting himself, there was nothing left of his heart to give anyone.
“Yes,” she said softly. “It does appear that way.” She took a step toward him. “I venture someone has hurt you, Gabriel.” There had been. The someone who sired him.
Something passed between them. A bond unwittingly forged by two people who’d both learned at some point to be wary of love and leery of all sentiments that involved in anyway caring.
He recoiled as panic, potent and powerful clamored in his chest. This unfamiliar connection he had with no one. Not his brother who’d despised him through the years. Not his sister, Philippa, who was polite and soft spoken to all, not Chloe who saw him as more bother than brother. Jane took another step toward him and his feet twitched in an involuntary need to take flight. He did not want a connection to Jane or anyone. Those bonds only brought responsibility. Responsibility brought disappointment and that disappointment brought pain. His heart pounded hard as he tried to reclaim control from the stranger who’d stolen into his sanity. He schooled his features into a hard mask. “Jane?” he said quietly when she continued her advance.
She came to a slow stop. “Yes?”
Jane Munroe was dangerous to his ordered world. “Regardless of your beliefs on love, hope, and happiness, I still wish for my sister to aspire to more. As such, I’ll ask that you do not impress your own cynical thoughts upon my sister.” And he could not afford to be weak. Not again.
Jane stiffened. “My lord?”
How was it possible to both mourn and embrace the shattered bond between them? “Chloe requires a husband and I’ll not have you fill her head with your own bitterness.” Inwardly, he flinched at that charge he’d stolen from his meeting with Waterson at White’s.
If looks could burn, he’d be a pile of charred ash at her feet. “With my bitterness?” she gritted out between clenched teeth. In this barely suppressed rage she bore no hint to the cowering young woman who’d first stood before him. Jane closed the space between them and in an entirely un-companion-like manner, jabbed him in the chest, hard with her finger. “I am not bitter. I am realistic.” As was he. They made a sorry, dreary pair, the two of them. “Furthermore,” he winced at another sharp jab. “I’ll have you know you do your sister a disservice if you believe I, you, or the king himself could control, manipulate, or override her opinions.” With a toss of her head, she marched from the room.