“I’ve seen my fair share of couples in love. And I can tell you with certainty that when one’s heart is engaged, the body responds as well. With, let’s say, flushed skin.” He pointed to the faint blush staining her porcelain cheeks. “Or a quickened pulse.” Here he indicated the long column of her throat, where even from where he sat, he could see the beat of her heart making the fine, translucent skin beneath her jaw flutter like mad. “Or an increased sensitivity of the skin.” He traced the line of her arm, his fingers a hairsbreadth from her skin, fascinated as the fine hairs there stood on end. “Mayhap,” he continued hoarsely, “even trembling.” He should not touch her. Yet when he saw the faint tremor in her hand he could not help brushing his fingers along it where it lay in her lap. She shook under his touch, overtaken with a gentle shudder.
“And you think Miss Weeton is affected in such a way with Lord Kingston?” she asked, her voice faint and breathy. “You can tell by observing that she feels none of those things for Mr. Carlisle?”
“I know she doesn’t.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Are you a mind reader then?”
“No, just incredibly observant.”
“I must take care then,” she said as she leaned away from his touch, her voice sounding strangled to his ears, “that you don’t read me as well.”
“I would never presume.”
Her lips kicked up in a small, humorless smile. “Afraid of what you shall find?”
“Not at all.” But wasn’t he? Hadn’t he shied away from her from the very beginning because she seemed to see straight to the flaws in him, to every uncertainty and fear?
She pursed her lips thoughtfully, seeing his hesitation. Then, in customary Rosalind fashion, she turned the conversation right on its head. “Lady Belham appears much happier today.”
It took him a moment to reorient himself, but he could only be glad for the change. They had been swimming in dangerous waters indeed.
“Yes. I admit myself deeply relieved.”
“As am I.” She hesitated before launching on. “Is your cousin prone to low spirits?”
“Not typically. She is ruled by her heart, of course, though that tends not to work in her favor. She is a creature of sensibility.”
“Indeed she is,” Rosalind said thoughtfully, even a bit sadly. “She reminds me of my sister at times.”
He thought perhaps she would tell him of her. She had been remarkably close-mouthed about her sister, considering how open she was with every other thought that crossed her mind. Instead she asked a question that was guaranteed to knock him on his arse if he’d been standing.
“Do you have siblings?”
Instantly an image of a youthful face swam in his vision, and the pride on their father’s face as he paraded the boy before Tristan during one of his few visits home. Pride that had never been present when he’d talked of Tristan.
His mouth worked silently for a time before he answered. “Er, yes. That is, I used to. A half-brother, Arthur. He died, quite young.”
A look of intense sadness passed over her face. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I know more than anyone the pain that losing a sibling can cause. You must miss him dreadfully.”
“Not so much,” he replied, his voice sounding far away to his own ears. “There was such an age difference, and I was off at school for much of his life. We were not close.” Not by choice, he silently amended, their father having made sure it was so.
“That must make it doubly hard, having forever lost that opportunity,” she mused, considering him with sharp eyes.
He was still reeling from that incisive response when she spoke again. “And your stepmother? Does she still live?”
“Yes, though I have not seen her in some time. Not since my father’s death.”
“You should visit her, for you may give one another some solace.”
Already he was shaking his head. “That is not possible.”
“Have you had a falling out then? For it is never too late to reconcile, you know. It must be very lonely, after all, to lose your husband and son. I’m sure she would not wish to lose you, too.”
“Perhaps,” he muttered vaguely, even as he knew in his heart that would never come to pass. Not ever.
But why had he told her all of this? He never talked of Arthur or his stepmother with others. They were part of his past, and best kept there.
And she was looking at him with entirely too much knowing in her gaze.
He rose so quickly she jumped in her seat.
“Well, then, I have business to attend to. Thank you for the talk. It was most enlightening.”
Enlightening? He must sound an utter fool. He started down the path, trying to put distance between them.
Her voice, however, chased after him.
“Where are we for tonight then?” she called to his retreating back.
“Vauxhall,” he said over his shoulder a moment before he turned the corner.
