Free Nightingale by Cathy Maxwell Page A

leather breeches, and gleaming top boots. He could not have appeared more handsome.
    Her joy in seeing him alive and unharmed was coupled with fear for her brother.
    She took a step toward him. “Cris?”
    â€œIs unharmed,” he answered.
    Jemma could have collapsed with relief.
    â€œHe won!” her mother said triumphantly.
    â€œNo,” Dane answered, walking into the room. “He’s more than a bit angry, but I believe when he completely sobers, he will agree with me. His seconds were satisfied with the turn of events, and they will talk sense into him. And now, madame, if you will excuse us, your daughter and I have something,” he hesitated slightly before saying, “ important to discuss.”
    Jemma’s mother jumped right in. “Oh, no, anything you have to say can be said in front of me.”
    â€œMother, leave.”
    Her mother turned to her. “I can’t.”
    â€œYou must,” Jemma answered. “You aren’t a part of this,” she added softly. Nor would she let her mother interfere any longer.
    For a second, she thought the woman would argue. Then, her mother smiled, a sly, secret smile, as if the two of them were conspirators . . . and Jemma wished she could disappear.
    â€œI’ll be outside the door,” her mother promised, then left the room. Dane closed the door behind him, and they were alone.
    Jemma had a hard time meeting his eye. Instead, she focused on the carved stone horse on his desk, and she remembered all too clearly the scene they’d played there. Heat brushed her cheeks. She tucked the edge of the sheet tighter around her chest. It fell down around her bare feet like a skirt with a long train.
    Dane walked over to the bed and placed his arm around the footboard canopy post. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, save that he watched her with an intensity that was disconcerting.
    She had to break the silence. “I need my clothes.”
    â€œMy valet is pressing them.”
    â€œThank you.” She hated how stiff they sounded with each other, and yet with the dawn of day came common sense. “How did you manage to convince my brother to back off his challenge?”
    â€œI refused to fight him.”
    Jemma wasn’t certain she understood. “It was that simple?”
    â€œWell, I had to have good cause.”
    â€œWhich was?”
    â€œI would not fight the man who would be my brother-in-law.”
    For a second, Jemma closed her eyes and let the words roll through her. They filled her with indescribable joy—and heartbreaking sorrow. Distraught, she raised a hand to her head, raking her fingers through her hair, and looked at him, tears in her eyes. “We can’t.”
    Dane appeared to have been holding his breath. He frowned. “Can’t what?”
    â€œMarry.” Dear God, the word was hard to say, and her heart broke even more.
    Straightening, he shook his head. “What game do you play now?” he said, his voice tightening with disbelief. “I heard you last night, Jemma. I heard you say you love me. Why would you refuse me? Why again?”
    So, she had spoken aloud. For a second she was tempted to run to him, to throw her arms around him and take back her words. But she couldn’t. “I do love you,” she answered. “I love you too much to saddle you with the likes of us.”
    His jaw hardened with determination. “It’s you I want.”
    â€œBut I come with my family. Dane, we would ruin you, and I can’t leave them behind.” She held up a hand to stave off his protest. “I know. I am protecting Cris . . . but you don’t know how it was. When we were children, my brother and I were always there for each other. We protected each other. When Papa was at his worst . . .” She let her voice trail off. She’d never voiced what her life had been like. It had been an unspoken pact between her