Page 58 of The Favourite

“Jane,” said an unsteady voice after a few heartbeats. “Tell me, my darling, did you really just utter those outrageous words or are my ears deceiving me?”

Her eyes flew open. “Are you laughing?” she asked incredulously. The bed dipped and she realized he was climbing back onto the bed beside her.

“Jane, did you just lose your temper with me?” he asked sounding utterly delighted. He seized her upper arm, rolling her onto her back so he could see her face.

“I—what are you—?”

“Oh, my gods,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over her face and neck. “You’re so flushed. And your eyes … they’re so bright.” The way he said it astonished her. His voice was sort of warm and velvety. “I love it when your composure slips, Jane,” he added appreciatively. “I always have.”

Jane’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “You—?”

“I did tell you once before,” he reminded her, easing his body to lie flush against hers. “Remember?”

Jane gazed up at him. How could he possibly be so entranced by such a thing? Suddenly, she realized he was waiting for her to answer. “Um,” she swallowed. “Was it at Kinnerton? At the foot of the staircase?”

“Yes,” he replied, still looking extremely distracted. He could not seem to tear his eyes away from her. “Do you remember what I told you?”

Jane’s mind reeled. “Something … about liking my rash?”

“I can see it now, peeping out of the top of your shift,” he admitted roughly. “I wish I could see more of it.” He caught her gaze. “May I, Jane?”

Jane struggled a moment with her response. “More?” she asked breathlessly.

He nodded. “I want to see … how far down it extends.”

If she was not mistaken, he was actually holding his breath for her response. He was not teasing for once, not about this. Something about that made her feel very strange. He was putting her in a position where she did not feel foolish, wooden, or lacking in any way. Despite the fact that he had all the experience here and she none, he was making her feel as though she had the upper hand.

When she reached up hesitantly for her neckline, his gaze seemed to ignite. “Wait!” he said quickly, reaching behind them for some pillows. “Let me just prop us up.” He piled some pillows behind them both, “Comfortable?” he asked, and Jane nodded, though she was not sure that was precisely the word.

Then he settled again expectantly beside her. “I’m ready,” he said, and his obvious eagerness dispelled the remainder of Jane’s doubts. He was in earnest about this, she realized, despite the fact she still felt stupefied that he could be so keen to see her unsightly mottled skin. Strange to say, his keenness for this gave her a spurt of confidence. He wanted to see it? Very well, she would show him! Then see what he had to say.

Her chemise was a loose-fitted one, gathered at the neckline with a pull-string, so she simply untied this and loosened the short bodice, drawing down the thin linen to expose her skin to him. His sharply indrawn breath gave her all the encouragement she needed. She halted for modesty’s sake at the tops of her breasts and snuck a look at his face. His gaze was riveted to her décolletage.

Doubtless, he was disappointed at her timidity, she thought, her throat dry. He had wanted to see how far down it went, after all. Still, she could not do it. Her every impulse rebelled, telling her to cover back up instead of revealing further.

“Ah Jane,” he breathed, his voice raspy. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Her eyes flew to meet his own. He was not disappointed, even remotely. His eyes, usually so cold and shrewd, blazed with some emotion Jane could not identify. Finally, his words registered with her. “You’ve imagined it?” she squeaked, turning even redder.

“So many times,” he groaned. “Does it … feel hot to the touch?”

“Yes,” she replied and saw him hesitate, words trembling on his lips. He wanted to touch it, she realized incredulously. What was it he had said before? Something about wanting to feel her, all hot and flushed. She was blazing like a furnace by this point. Taking a deep breath, she reached out tentatively toward him and saw his eyes widen.

“Give me your hand,” she said before she could lose her nerve. When he did so, she drew his hand toward her breast and placed it gently against her skin. He made a noise in his throat, but Jane could not look at his face. “Can you feel it?” she asked after a pause.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Is it … how you imagined?”

“No.” He swallowed. “It’s one hundred times better.” Jane dragged in a breath of air, and he made that noise again, at the rise and fall of her chest, as if he could not help himself.

“Jane,” he said, almost reverently. His hand felt almost cool against her heated skin. How could he be so enraptured by it? she wondered. His every reaction told her, he was not dissembling.

Then again, this was probably the most flesh she had exposed in her life. Not for her, the low-cut bodices that exposed your bosoms to all and sundry, however fashionable they might be at court. Closing her eyes briefly, Jane released his hand, and before she could change her mind, tugged down on the loosened neckline till it pooled at her waist. He actually gasped.

She opened her eyes. “You said you wanted to see how far down it went,” she said quickly, but he was not attending to her words. Instead, he was staring at her with the strangest expression dawning on his face.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he said thickly, which Jane knew was not true, but strangely did not feel like protesting in the moment. “No wonder you cover yourself up. They’d all lie at your feet. The whole pack of them.”