It beat, tired but steady, and Jonas let out a sigh of relief.
BY THE TIME JONAS CAME BACK TO HIS OWN HOME that evening, he was exhausted. It had been a day of many house calls—eight in all, the last one interrupting his dinner. Interspersed between them, he’d managed to engage the services of a locksmith for the next day, and to hire a few men to move the things his father would need for his journey.
He’d not had a moment to himself to think of anything other than work, and given the state of emotional fatigue he found himself in, it was all to the best. His housekeeper had gone by the time he let himself in the front door, and the maid who answered his door had gone to her parents’ home back in Nottingham for the holidays. The house was dark and empty. He made his way to the back, where his dinner—now cold—had been laid under a dome. Potatoes, beef, and peas were prosaic enough. He ate methodically, while making notations in his visit log.
By the time it was ten o’clock, he’d cleaned his plate and had finished recording his thoughts for the day. He’d shed his coat, and replaced his shoes and stockings with slippers. He was on the verge of finding his way into bed when a knock came at the door.
For a moment, he stared wearily at the table. The last thing he wanted—the very last thing—was to stand up and go answer that knock. But it was urgent if someone had come at this hour of the night. He was needed. It didn’t matter how tired he was. He could sleep later.
He stood and made his way to the door.
A solitary cloaked figure stood there. For a moment, he stared blankly. And then—
Lydia. Because of that wager, he wasn’t even able to speak her name aloud. He thought it instead. He felt it with his whole body.
“I’m so sorry for coming at this hour,” she whispered, “but I had to wait for my parents to go to sleep.”
He looked around, but nobody else was about. And ultimately, his was the one door where a visitor in the night would not be remarked upon.
He could feel his weariness sliding from him. He opened the door wider and gestured her inside.
She hadn’t said he could speak, and so he didn’t. Not because he felt bound by the wager, but because… Because she needed to choose him at her own pace. To understand that he was willing to wait for her. And he wanted to know that she would choose him over her own dark fears.
He wasn’t going to talk, but he helped her take off her cloak, running his hands over her shoulders as he did. He could almost feel the aching tension in his head slip away as his fingers brushed her skin. He hung her cloak on a hook.
When he turned back to her, she faced him. She was holding a gift in one hand—a small sack of gold velvet tied with a green ribbon. It was a ridiculously elaborate presentation, and he couldn’t help but smile at it. Ribbons at ten at night? Only Lydia.
She held it out to him. “I brought you a Christmas present.” She looked down. “And yes, I know the decoration doesn’t change the contents, but it amused me to make it pretty.”
No, Lydia would never bring him a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. He wouldn’t want her any other way.
He took the package.
“You should open it now.”
Bemused, he undid the ribbon. It took several minutes to figure out the complicated bow she’d made. He folded it carefully, and then opened the sack. Inside, he felt the crinkle of paper. He pulled it out. For a second he thought that she’d given him a note—a note to match the one he’d written for her earlier that day. But then he rubbed it between his fingers and realized that this wasn’t paper all the way through. It was…
He unfolded the paper and swallowed.
She’d given him a French letter. How in the hell had she found a French letter? He could not mistake the intent in that.
He let out a shaky breath and looked over at her. Her eyes were dark, dark. She reached up and pulled two pins from her hair, and her curls tumbled over her shoulders.
Ever so slowly, he held out his hand to her. Just as slowly, she set her fingers on his. “I would have had Mrs. Hall get me a Dutch cap instead,” she said. “But I believe I have to be fitted for one, and, ah…” Her fingers curled around his, and she moved closer to him. “I wanted you to do that.”
She stood so close to him now. His entire body yearned for hers.
“I am afraid,” she said quietly. “I am afraid because I like you. Because I think back on our conversations and smile. I am afraid because when I see you, my heart beats faster. The truth terrifies me, and the truth, Jonas, is that I want you carnally.”
Oh, God. He’d never thought to hear those words from her.
“And in other ways.”
He was riveted by her lips, that dusky rose that demanded his touch.