From Kiss to Queen (19 page)

A timid knock sounded at the door. And while Mark and Jane continued trying to stare each other down, Alexi crawled off the bed and went to the door. Two hastily dressed servants came in bearing huge trays of hot cocoa and warm, sweet-smelling rolls.

With an unexpected and rather ferocious shove, Jane pushed Mark off the bed, causing him to land on the floor with a grunt-inducing thud. Still glaring while somehow managing to smile smugly, Jane crawled off the bed, stepped over Mark, and went to meet the startled staff.

Mark grinned at his father, who was leaning over and grinning back at him, as they all heard Jane profusely thanking the servants and feverishly apologizing for having them pulled from their own warm beds.

Y
ou have impeccable manners, Jane,” Irina commented as the two women served the cocoa to the late-night gathering that didn't seem to want to break up. All the men were happily re-ensconced on the bed, and Reynard, using some of that old Lakeland charm, was blatantly trying to cajole Jane back onto the bed with them.

“You can thank Sister Roberta and Emily Post that I have any manners at all,” Jane responded to Irina.

“Who is Sister Roberta?” Alexi asked, apparently wide awake now and greedily wolfing down Cook's sweet rolls.

“She was the Mother Superior of Saint Xavier's.” At his quizzical look, Jane continued. “That's where I grew up. Saint Xavier's is an orphanage.”

“Come sit with me, daughter, and tell us about your home,” Reynard tried again, this time capturing her hand
before she could escape. With only a slight tug, and much rattling of cocoa cups, the bed dipped and Jane was once again settled beside him.

Brushing her hair from her face, she finally seemed resigned to the inquiry. Mark thought about again routing Dmitri, who had resumed his place beside her, but decided to remain at Jane's feet so he could better see her face.

“And who is Emily Post?” Dmitri asked.

“Emily Post is the author of a book on manners,” Jane explained. She smiled whimsically. “From the time I could sit in someone's lap, there were two books that were constantly read to me—the Bible and Emily Post. And when I was old enough to read myself, I was required to read both books from cover to cover at least once a year.”

“Good Lord,” Sergei groaned on a shudder. “Rather dry reading on either count, weren't they, for a child?”

Jane arched a very queenly-looking brow over the rim of her cocoa cup. “But quick by the third or fourth time. Heck, I could recite from either one of them, even today.”

“Were you allowed to read other books?” Alexi asked.

“Oh, sure. Sister Patricia used to read
The Little Engine That Could
to me all the time. She started right about the time I was learning to walk.”

“How many children were at this Saint Xavier's?” Aunt Irina asked.

“Oh, anywhere between six and eight of us at any one time.”

Jane looked at all their sympathetic faces and immediately puffed up indignantly. “I had a wonderful life at the Home. The sisters were good to me. And as I got
older, I was important to them. I helped them with the younger children.”

Mark couldn't contain his grin. Yes, she had fond memories of her youth, where she had been important and needed. “And later, when you left Saint Xavier's,” he asked, “were you still important to someone?”

“When I was twelve, I went to live with the Johnsons,” she explained, frowning at his choice of words. “They owned a set of sporting camps just north of Pine Creek. They were getting old, and they needed my help. Especially Ann. She taught me to cook for the sports.”

“Sports?” Sergei quizzed.

“That's what we call the people who come to fish and hunt.”

“Ah. And this is where you learned to use a gun?” Reynard asked, a gleam in his eye.

“Well, yes,” Jane hedged, squirming uncomfortably at his reminder of her foolishness. “Mr. Johnson—Hank—taught me to hunt and fish.”

“And Mr. Johnson is the man who gave you your shotgun?” Mark asked.

She frowned at him again. “Yes.”

“It's a quality weapon.”

“The Johnsons liked me,” she countered, her chin rising.

“I can understand why,” Mark countered back.

“How long did you stay with them?” Reynard asked, drawing her attention again.

“Until I was nineteen. Hank died in a boating accident on Pine Lake and Ann went to live with her sister in
Georgia. I worked for the people who bought their sporting camps for a while, then got a job managing another set of camps farther north.”

“This is where you met Silas?” Mark asked.

Jane nodded and broke into a smile. “Yeah. Silas was the handyman there.”

“Until you talked him into buying Twelve Mile Camp.”

“Something like that,” she agreed, her smile broadening.

“Mark called Silas a damn Yankee,” Alexi tattled. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Jane answered, her eyes lighting with mischief, “that Silas got the better part of your brother.”

“And most of my cash,” Mark added.

“We have sporting camps,” Alexi piped up. “In the north.”

“Really?” Jane said in surprise. “Do many people come to Shelkova to hunt and fish?”

“Both,” he answered. “We have caribou and some elk for hunting. But the fishing; now that's grand,” Alexi finished dreamily.

Mark rolled his eyes. They were in for it now. Alexi had a passion for fishing. And if they weren't careful, Jane was liable to sneak off with the man one of these days, and disappear into the north woods and not come out until they were both laden with trout. As it was, the bedridden group found themselves having to listen to another one of Alexi's famous fishing tales.

So they dutifully listened until Mark noticed Jane was beginning to nod off, her empty cocoa cup slipping
quietly from her fingers. He gave Alexi a poke in the leg to shut him up. Everyone looked at Mark, then followed his eyes to Jane, and everyone smiled.

Mark scowled at the lot of them. “I'm taking her back to her room. Alone.”

Everyone shook their heads.

Mark got off the bed. “Yes, I am.”

“Just leave her here,” Reynard suggested. “She's comfortable.”

“She won't be in the morning when she wakes up. She'll be embarrassed.”

“Then Alexi will accompany you to her room.”

“No, he won't,” Mark growled. “Butt out. Let me court the lady.”

Reynard snorted—quietly. “I trust your
courting
as much as I trust your intentions.”

“I promise to drop her in bed and leave,” Mark grudgingly offered.

“Tomorrow we'll move her to this wing,” Reynard added, obviously not believing him.

“She won't come. I put her in the room she has to give her some space.”

“More likely so you could get her alone,” Sergei said with a snort.

“She will come,” Reynard said, ignoring the brothers' banter. “You forget the stories, Mark. Your mother was just as reluctant. But I charmed my way around Katrina, and I shall charm my way around Jane.” Reynard sighed. “Too bad you didn't inherit that gift from me.”

Not wanting to wake their angel, Mark's three brothers snickered in agreement. Reynard turned to Aunt Irina.
“Prepare the room next to yours, Irina. Jane can stay there, and you can keep a watchful eye on her,” he added meaningfully.

Irina wholeheartedly agreed, giving Mark a mischievous wink. And Mark winked back. Oh, he had enough charm to get his aunt to look the other way when he wanted.

Bending down to finally pick Jane up, Mark must have startled her awake. Because the next thing he knew a sharp fist caught him in the chin at the same time as a fierce pain shot up his thigh far too close to his groin for comfort.

Male laughter and a distressed shriek followed him to the floor, and Mark looked up to see a wide-eyed Jane blinking down at him. She quickly scrambled off the bed while trying to apologize, but her ankle gave out and she ended up on top of him instead.

The laughter continued.

What he could see of her face through her knotted hair was bright red. “Your ankle is sore,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her and holding her on his lap. “Let me carry you to your room.”

She mumbled something incoherent into his shirt that Mark took as permission. So once again he picked her up and easily gained his feet, and Jane buried her face in his neck as he carried her from the room—that is, after giving Sergei a warning glare not to follow.

“Your ankle is tired?” he asked once they were in the hall.

“Yes. I'm sorry I hit you,” she said, still not looking at him. “You startled me.”

His long strides quickly carried them down the hall as he thought about that. Finally, he took an educated guess.
“You've been startled from sleep before,” he said, not as a question.

“Yes.”

“Recently?”

“A-about a month or so ago,” she softly confessed.

“About the time you decided to move to the coast.” Again, it wasn't a question.

“Yeah, about then.”

“Possibly by someone looking for a . . . mistress?”

“Something like that.”

She still wasn't looking at him. And Mark pretty well knew why. This was not an easy admission for her, and to be truthful, he was surprised she was making it at all. He finally reached her room and carefully set her on the bed, going down on his knees in front of her and holding her hips with his hands.

“That man was a fool, Jane,” he said thickly, ducking his head and trying to see her eyes. “Only a fool would settle for you as a mistress. Only a fool would not put a ring on your finger and give you his name. Only a fool, angel, would not hold you tightly forever.”

Her eyes finally met his. And oh, the sadness he saw there. And the yearning.

“Only a fool would marry me,” she softly contradicted.

“I've been called that once or twice in my life.” He cocked his head. “My mother, I think, was the last to dare.”

Jane hesitantly smiled, still sadly, and gently brought her hand up to his jaw. “Let me go home.”

“You're already here, Jane,” he whispered. “This is your home now, and will be the home of our children.” He gave her hips a soft squeeze. “It's not by a lake and it
doesn't have a picket fence, but it has a family of your very own. And it has an ocean out back and uncles and a grandfather for our babies. Stay here with me, Jane. Make Shelkova your home.”

“But why me?” she asked, tears in her eyes as her thumb stroked his jaw again.

“Because
I
need you. Because you're important to
me
. Because if you leave, you'll take a good part of my heart with you.”

Her hand stilled. And the threatening tears finally spilled free as she suddenly threw herself against him and wrapped her good arm around his neck, nearly choking him. “Oh, I wish I could believe that,” she softly cried into his shoulder. “I really wish!”

“You'll believe, angel,” he vowed, hugging her as tightly as he dared. “Eventually. Now, come. Let me put you to bed. And let me see what I can do to help your ankle.”

As he expected, that last offer got her to release him. It also got her tears dried and her scowl back. “My ankle's just fine.”

“And sore. You shouldn't have run around the palace without your brace.”

Her chin lifted. “I don't need the brace to walk.”

“Your limp is more pronounced without it,” he pointed out, deciding to challenge her. It was time she got over being shy about her scars and learned to trust him.

Hell, it was time she started
believing
.

“The brace is just for support because my ankle is weak. That's all.”

“And now it is sore,” he repeated. “Tell me what you do to relieve the pain after putting in a hard day.”

She tried raising her chin higher, but Mark grabbed it so he could look her right in the eye. “I'm not leaving until this is settled. And Jane?”

“Yes.”

“I'm bigger and stronger and more stubborn than you.”

She suddenly smiled. “Then what were you doing on the floor of your father's room?”

“Contemplating ways of getting even,” he drawled, bobbing his brows and standing up. “Does heat help? Would a hot towel ease the ache?”

“Okay,” she ungraciously conceded. “Get me a hot towel and then leave.”

Mark went to her bathroom and turned the hot water tap and pulled a thick bath towel off the rack, his thoughts turning inward as he held the towel in the water. When he'd told her she would take a good part of his heart with her if she left, he'd declared not just his intentions, but his love, hadn't he?

Had she even
heard
him?

Wringing the towel more forcibly than necessary, Mark returned to Jane, unable to stifle the foolish grin he knew he was wearing. She didn't grin back. In fact, the love of his life was scowling at him and holding out her hand for the towel. Mark took that hand and used it to push her back on the bed.

But she sprang right back up when he moved toward her feet. “I'll do that.”

He gently forced her back down, then loomed over her. “No, Jane. I will. Don't panic. I'm going to place the towels over your sock, so the heat won't scorch your skin. Relax, angel.”

She stayed down this time, but her lips were pursed.
He guessed she was silently reciting more nun-approved curses at him. Still grinning like the besotted fool he was, Mark carefully laid the towel over her right ankle.