Page 30 of Her Rake Fiancé

She found a longer strip of gauze and masterfully bandaged a piece of thickly folded gauze against his chest by wrapping it over his shoulder next to his neck.

And then it was done.

“What drew you to teaching, then?” he asked.

She picked up the basin, carried it to her dressing table, and placed it there. “It was a combination of things. I guess I could say that a noble desire played a part. Those children…they get education, only it’s not the kind with books and numbers. Many of them are trained to pick pockets and do burglaries. And do you know what happens when they’re caught?”

Richard inhaled sharply. “They’re hanged,” he said.

She nodded as she poured the bloody water into the night pot, then cleaned the basin with a cloth, and poured clean water into it. “Indeed. I once saw a gallows with a child’s corpse swaying in the wind,” she said, her voice shaking. A chill ran down Richard’s own spine. “I never want another child to get punished for something they are born into and have no control over.”

Richard couldn’t take his eyes off her. He had been born into a life of privilege and luxury. His biggest daily problem was usually finding the next soirée, the next willing lady with whom he could escape heartache and sadness for a few hours. He did not concern himself with where his next meal would come from.

Neither did this woman, and yet, she had decided to do something useful with herself. Unlike he, who considered himself quite useless…until recently when he had made it his mission to find out what happened to his brother. And it was still Jane who was doing the actual investigating.

“Is that what made you start the school?” he asked.

“I wish it was the only thing,” she said as she picked up a bar of soap and lathered her hands. The foam became pink from his blood. “However, there is another, quite selfish reason.”

He doubted she had a selfish bone in her body. “I am intrigued.”

She rinsed her hands in the basin, then dried them with a towel. “Building this school… Making a difference for these children, and hopefully for more children in Whitechapel… That chases my loneliness away. Makes me feel useful. Like I’m making a difference.”

“That is not selfish, Jane,” he breathed. “I only wish I had something like that to bring meaning to my life.”

She frowned and walked to the bed, then sat at the edge, her leg touching his, facing him. “Your life matters, Richard,” she said. “Every life does. You have a beautiful family, who clearly love you very much.”

He nodded and stared into space. “I suppose they do. Yet…” He paused, looking down at his hands. “You know, I’ve always felt like no one. Spencer, he was always supposed to be the duke, the heir… I always admired him. I was never given a chance to properly learn the things that interested him, like politics and running the estate. He was everyone’s favorite. Preston, he was the spare, so he was still taught and trained and paid attention to. Calliope, she was the only girl, Mama and Papa’s little princess. And I…I knew they loved me. But I just…I never felt like I had a place. Like I was important.”

Her hand moved to lie just a fraction away from his own on the bed. He could feel the warmth of it. “You matter, Richard. What you do have control over is what you do with your life, with your privilege.”

He absorbed her words, his heart pounding in his chest. She had a point, he thought. He had the privilege and the resources to do something impactful. He had just never given it a thought. Richard felt a flicker of hope. Yes, he could do that. He could make a difference in his own way. Jane’s passion for her school was contagious, and he found himself sharing in her excitement.

“I’ve always found business ideas fascinating. Whenever I heard Papa and Spencer talk about investments, business ventures, I was curious and wanted to learn more.”

She smiled warmly, her eyes never leaving his. “Perhaps you could start a business venture of your own.”

His mind raced, hungry for possibilities. For the first time in years, a true inspiration made him feel light and alive. “Yes, I could do that,” he said, his voice filled with determination. “Thank you, Jane. You’ve given me something to think about, something to strive for.”

Her hand inched closer to his own. “I’m glad I could help,” she said softly.

He stopped breathing. Their eyes locked. Hers were big and gray and glistening and so, so pretty. Her hand finally closed the rest of the tiny distance between them, and her finger touched his.

A jolt of hot awareness rushed through him, like a lightning bolt streaking through a stormy night sky. He turned his hand and intertwined his fingers with hers, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. She didn’t pull away, but instead, her fingers tightened around his hand.

“You’re breaking your own rules again, Jane,” he whispered, his eyes not leaving hers. His heart pounded in his chest like a wild drum.

“I know,” she said, her voice barely audible. Her eyes burned with an intensity that made his breath hitch. Her other hand rose slowly, tracing a line from his shoulder, down his chest, coming to rest on the bandages that covered his wound.

“I’ve followed rules all my life, Richard. My father’s rules. Society’s rules. My own rules. For once, I just…” She hesitated, her cheeks coloring slightly, but she didn’t lower her gaze, didn’t retreat. Instead, she took a deep breath and finished her sentence. “I want to break them.”

Before he could respond, she leaned in and her lips met his, soft and tentative. His heart pounded in his chest. His blood roared in his ears. His hand slipped up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. He deepened the kiss, tasting her, pulling her closer.

Her fingers moved across his chest, sending ripples of pleasure coursing through his veins. He felt like he was drowning in her, and he didn’t want to be saved. The world outside, with its expectations and conventions, fell away, replaced by the intoxicating sensation of her lips on his, her body pressed against him.

She was so small, so light. Her lips were even softer, even fuller than he imagined. He brushed his tongue lightly against them, and her mouth parted, taking him in. One caress of his tongue against hers, and he was all fire, all need, all tingling ache.

How many ladies had he had in his arms since Lady Charity? How many times had this led to him in a woman’s bed, taking her with just one thought in mind—forgetting the woman who had hurt him like no one had before.