The Heart's Companion - By Holly Newman Page 0,62

regarding the Earl of Royce? Any gentleman who could enjoy her nephews’ company, as he genuinely appeared to, could not have been cruel to another child, no matter the circumstance. Perhaps his sobriquet was as false as her own.

She considered that a moment. She’d used the name as a shield between them, something to keep him from getting close to her, something to block the strange attraction she felt. If she were to remove that impediment, what would happen?

A surge of prickly tingles swept her blood, then faded only to remain in the pit of her stomach. She raised her hand and placed it on her waist, awed by the lingering echo. A slow smile pulled her lips wide, her cheeks flushing delicately, and her eyes sparkling like cut emeralds.

She hugged herself excitedly, then picked up her discarded novel and tried to immerse herself in the story in an attempt to curb her burgeoning anticipation.

The faint rumble of deep voices from out in the hall pulled Jane’s attention away from the book in her hand. It wasn’t a difficult task. She doubted she could relate the events of the last five pages. She had been daydreaming, waiting for the stillness to break.

The door to the parlor opened to reveal Lord Royce, leaning heavily on Lord Conisbrough’s arm. Instantly Jane was on her feet and running to his side.

"My lord! Should you be up? Your ankle!"

"My ankle would do well for a little exercise, as would my body and mind. Besides, if my company is to continue to be limited to Conisbrough, I’ll go mad!"

"I’ve beaten him eight games out of ten and his pride’s hurt," drawled the marquis, turning his head to wink at Jane.

"Pride! I thought it was my pocketbook," Royce said with asperity, hobbling over to one of the matched settees. He stood by it. Jane looked at him perplexed. "Miss Grantley," he said with strained patience, "I cannot sit before you, and as the ankle is throbbing, I do so wish to."

Jane blushed, then bristled. "Fustian, my lord. To be thinking of silly conventions when one is injured is the height of—of—"

"Of?" he repeated.

"Oh, I don’t know. Just sit down."

A small smile captured the earl’s lips. He bowed his head in thanks and sank gingerly down on the settee. Jane was beside him in an instant, offering to help move the injured member on to the length of the broad cushions. Her hands burned when she touched him, the sensation traveling rapidly throughout her body. She stepped back hastily.

"Can I order any refreshments for you, my lord?"

"No, thank you. Just your company as a change from this fellow’s ugly phizz."

"Don’t think you’ve been the only one to suffer," quipped the marquis easily. He turned to Jane. "Where might I find Lady Elsbeth this afternoon?"

"In the stillroom."

"More herbs?"

Jane laughed. "I’m afraid so."

He sighed lugubriously. Then he cocked his head and looked at Jane. "Tell me, Miss Grantley, why has your aunt never married?"

She looked at him steadily, uncertain what to say. "For as long as I can remember," she said slowly, "Elsbeth has devoted herself to the care of others. "

The marquis raised his eyebrows.

"Not long ago I teased her for allowing the family to take advantage of her. Her response was that it was not something one planned. It begins either from the notion of being helpful in times of need, or, as I thought she was referring to in my case, as an escape from society. Now I wonder if she was strictly referring to me. I know she has long shunned society; but I believe her reasons to be complex and convoluted. Perhaps not even properly understood by herself. "

The marquis nodded. "Thank you, Miss Grantley, for your honesty. Now if you two will excuse me." He turned to go, then stopped and looked over his shoulder at Royce, a slight smile on his lips. "Should I best leave the parlor door open?"

Royce looked at him with feigned innocence. "And what of the stillroom door?"

"That, my friend, is none of your concern."

"I perceive that the wrong one of us has an injured ankle. "

"The wrong one of us?" repeated the marquis, looking askance at Jane, though a smile lingered on his lips. Then he bowed and left the room, closing the door with a distinct snap.

The earl scowled after his retreating back, then glanced at Jane. "Conisbrough is reliving his youth," he said sourly. He shifted in his seat, ostensibly to ease his ankle.

"Does it