Page 32 of A Modest Independence

“It is, rather.” Her gaze dropped to her hands, her heart and her mind battling for supremacy. The very notion that he bore some small affection for her was as bitter as it was sweet. “I wish you hadn’t told me.”

“Why?”

She raised her eyes back to his. “Because nothing can come of it.”

“Who says so?”

“I do. You know I don’t wish to marry. Not you or anyone. I haven’t earned my freedom only to exchange it for another form of servitude.”

“I’m not proposing to you, Jenny.”

A blush bloomed in her cheeks. “I know that. I didn’t mean—”

“Indeed,” he said. “Marriage needn’t even enter the equation.”

And just like that, all of the oxygen seemed to leave the railway carriage.

Jenny stared at him, lips still half parted on words that had evaporated the instant he uttered what had to be the most incendiary sentence she’d ever heard in her life.

Marriage needn’t enter the equation?

Great God almighty, had Tom Finchley lost his mind?

He didn’t appear to be suffering from any visible head injury. Nor did he seem to be under the influence of strong spirits. He was regarding her calmly, steadily, as if he hadn’t just uttered those seven fateful words. Except…

No. He wasn’t calm at all. Any semblance of such was only the thinnest veneer, beneath which he was unnaturally still, his muscles taut as he waited for her to say something. Anything.

She moistened her lips. “What is it that you’re suggesting?”

Tom’s breath gusted out of him. He pushed his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. But we’re together now and will be for a long while to come. There will be ample time for us to explore this…attraction…or whatever it is between us.”

Jenny’s heart threatened to hammer straight out of her chest. Her voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. “Do you mean…?”

A rush of scalding color swept up his neck. “My God, no. Nothing like that. I wouldn’t presume… That is…What I’m talking about…What I propose—what I very much wish—is that we might dispense with this pretense of being indifferent to one another. That we might…”

“What?”

“Find some degree of solace in each other’s company.”

“Solace,” she repeated.

“By which I mean companionship.”

“Oh.” The single word was no more than a breath. A disappointed breath. She’d expected something more daring. Holding hands or sharing a kiss, perhaps. Both actions would be highly inappropriate, of course. They weren’t an engaged couple. Neither was he courting her. Nevertheless…she privately admitted to a distinct curiosity.

What would it be like to be kissed by Tom Finchley?

Her mouth went dry at the thought. She liked to think herself an adventurous person. A bold female who didn’t let society’s rules dictate her every behavior. But to kiss a gentleman who wasn’t her intended? It passed beyond the scandalous and into the realm of the outrageously wanton.

She didn’t wish to be thought of as shameless. And yet…

Her gaze lingered on Tom’s lips. It took an effort to raise her eyes back to his.

“Or,” he said, “if you like, we can agree to forget this entire conversation.”

“Are you jesting? You must be, for I don’t believe I’m capable of forgetting a single word you’ve said.”

His expression turned rueful. “That shocking, was it?”