Wesley Hughes nearly spit his brandy across the room as he watched Lady Jane Davenport place her hands on her hips and stare at him as she waited for a reply. When he was unable to give an answer, irritation flashed in her sparkling brown eyes. “Did you not hear me?” she asked, folding her arms. Her slippered toe tapped beneath the hem of her gown. Slowly, he straightened up from the mantle where he had been leaning upon her entry. “I heard you perfectly, Lady Jane,” he said, watching her with caution. “But I don’t think I understood you.” She came across the room with pinched lips, but as she moved closer, he could see she had been crying. Her brown eyes were rimmed red with emotion and pale tracks of tears shimmered on her cheeks when the firelight hit her just so. His heart clenched at the sight. He had known Jane for over a year, but he had never seen her so upset. A desire to comfort her filled him.
