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her turned cheek and suddenly longed to leap inside her mind to discover her thoughts and feelings. How much longer did she intend to stretch this tension between them? It was ludicrous when they had so fully understood and respected each other before these last infuriating few days.
    He had to find a way to provoke her into talking to him with a modicum of the friendliness he had always known from her. Now that it had vanished, he realized how much he’d missed it in the months since Elizabeth left. “Are you not afraid for you and Jeannie staying here alone?”
    â€œAfraid? Why should I be afraid?” She turned, and her eyes shone with excitement. “This is what I want. I want to be free to come and go as I wish. To stay up late without the fear of knowing my mother might call out to me the moment I begin to fall asleep. To know I can arise in the morning and come down to breakfast in my nightgown if I so choose. What is there to be afraid of?”
    Words lodged in his throat as the image of Jane dressed in only a nightgown rushed into his mind and stirred imaginings that he had no right to think about.
    He cleared his throat. He should be thinking of muggers, burglars, thieves, and vagrants, not Jane in a cotton nightgown and naked underneath.
    â€œWhat of the dangers?” He cleared his throat and walked toward the fire Simmons had lit. He stared into the flames, desperately trying to control the inexplicable desire rushing through his blood. “Have you not considered how exposed you and Jeannie will be living here alone?” He forced his gaze to hers. “Were things really that unbearable at Marksville?”
    She stared at him, her face somber and her eyes dark with sadness.
    Matthew frowned as concern rippled through him. He came toward her and lowered into an overstuffed armchair beside her. “Jane?”
    â€œI won’t allow myself to be afraid. Not anymore. I am equally as capable as Monica of forging my own destiny. I care for people, Matthew, that’s what I do. To love and care for others is who I am, who I want to be.”
    She reached up and plucked at the pins holding her hat in place, and Matthew stared at her pretty, auburn tresses as they cascaded in thick waves over her shoulders. His fingers itched to touch the strands, just to discover if they were as soft as they looked. He snatched his gaze to the carpet and clasped his hands together.
    These new and terrifying urges had to stop. This was Jane. Albeit, his Jane. Not in a romantic way . . . they were friends. Had always been friends.
    He slowly exhaled. “Everyone knows the depth and breadth of your heart. Everyone. Your ability to care for people is not in question. Never has been.”
    â€œThen why do I go on searching to do more? To be more?” Her eyes stormed with frustration. “I am a good person, but being in Biddestone was bringing me down. Changing me into someone I don’t wish to become.” She stood and strode across the room to face the window. “Bath is full of new people, new ideas, and new opportunities.” She faced him. “I could be happy here, and I don’t need you with me to do that.”
    He frowned. What was she saying? She didn’t want him to talk to her? Acknowledge her in the street? “Do you want me to make myself a stranger to you? Is that it?” A surge of frustration burst.
    She stared, her expression unreadable.
    He stood. “I will take your silence as affirmation.”
    He waited for her gaze to soften, to give him a small sign their friendship hadn’t died through some unspoken cause. Nothing came.
    â€œGood-bye, Jane.” He walked toward her and lifted her hand, pressing a lingering kiss to her bare knuckles. “Take care.”
    He dropped her hand and strode from the room, confusion and a horrible sense of fear slowing his steps. Jane was his comfort. His support. His friend. What had he done—or not