“Ever?” When she nodded, he couldn’t help pressing, “Surely Hillram affected you.”
When she remained silent, her expression turning almost miserable, the realization hit him: she had not felt these things even with Lord Hillram.
Something warm filled him, something he couldn’t identify—and didn’t want to.
“But it doesn’t matter what I felt, or what you might have felt,” she said. “For you aren’t planning to stay.”
It was not a question, yet her eyes found his in the dim light, asking him to deny it. And mayhap, begging for something else. Something he could never give her.
“No,” he said, “I don’t mean to stay. Nor,” he continued, slowly and distinctly, a reminder to himself as much as a need to make her understand, “do I have any plans to take a wife back with me.”
As she nodded and turned to go back inside, he wondered at the look of pain in her eyes. As well as the regret that filled his chest, so thick and cloying, he could hardly breathe.
Chapter 18
Lenora sucked in a sharp breath as her needle found her finger. She watched dully as a small drop of blood welled up before sticking the wounded digit into her mouth.
It wasn’t the first time that afternoon she had pricked herself. No doubt it wouldn’t be the last. To make matters worse, her efforts at embroidery were no better than a tangle of threads. Heaving a sigh, she tossed the pillowcase aside and looked out the sitting room window. From behind her, Margery’s voice droned on as she read to her grandmother. Suddenly she stopped.
“Lenora,” Lady Tesh called, “are you bored of embroidery? Would you like me to have your drawing things fetched?”
Lenora nearly blanched. If there was anything she didn’t want to do in that moment, it was to draw. Since the kiss with Peter and the realization that she had foolishly fallen in love with him—a man who had bluntly stated he could never return her affections—it was more imperative than ever that she stifle her emotions. She could not again be tempted as she had been at the pools to draw what her heart willed her to. For if she opened herself up to the danger of that again, there was no telling what pain would follow.
“No thank you, Gran,” she said, giving the woman a wan smile. “I think perhaps I haven’t recuperated from the ball the other night, is all.”
“Oh, pish,” she scoffed. “We were home before midnight. I’m sure you’ve stayed out much later during your time in London.”
She shrugged, trying—and failing—to keep her gaze from flitting to Peter. He seemed to be entirely focused on the card game he was playing with Mr. Nesbitt. She should be happy he managed to ignore her so completely.
So why did it cause such an ache in her chest?
“Yes, well,” she said now, forcing her gaze back to Lady Tesh, “perhaps it’s the weather then. It’s quite gray outside.”
“Hmmph. No doubt another storm,” the older woman muttered. “It really is too bad, for I did so want you to go to the cliffs today.”
Lenora sent up a prayer of thanks. She couldn’t continue with the tragic tale of Synne and Ivar. Not today. Perhaps not ever.
Margery, who had been waiting patiently to continue reading to her grandmother, spoke up then, turning an understanding smile on Lenora. “Perhaps I should play something on the pianoforte.”
But the thought of some cheerful tune filling the room made Lenora’s skin crawl. “No, you’d best continue your reading. I’m sure Gran is waiting on tenterhooks. I’ll write to my father; I haven’t heard from him since we arrived.”
Her attempt at deflection didn’t clear the worry from Margery’s face. But her friend did as she was bade, lifting the book and starting off again.
Lenora rose and made her way to the small escritoire in the corner. She busied herself straightening the blotter, sharpening the pen nib, searching for paper. Finally she had everything precisely as she liked.
But the blank page stared up at her, mocking her. What could she say to her father? That she had fallen in love? That the man would soon be leaving? That her heart would be broken when he left?
On the heel of that thought came another: had her father begun the search for her latest betrothed as he’d promised to do? Her hands clenched until the knuckles showed white, misery pooling in her breast. Of course he had. Her father wasn’t one to let moss grow when there was an opportunity to be had. And though the scandal surrounding her third failed engagement was dire indeed, Sir Alfred was clever enough to turn it in his favor. And she would once more be destined for a loveless match. Which was just as she deserved, after Hillram.
But how much harder would it be, now that she had tasted the possibility of something more with Peter?
She felt his eyes on her, burning into her back. Longing swept through her, making her want things she knew she could never have. She closed her eyes, dragging in a shuddering breath. She had to get out of this room before she went mad.
The click of small nails on the polished floor alerted her to her salvation. Freya had leapt down from her seat beside Lady Tesh and made her way to the sitting room door, where she stood with an imperious look as if to say, “I am ready for my walk, peasants.”
Lenora stood so quickly, the chair scraped the floor, startling the other inhabitants.
“I’ll take Freya out, shall I?” she blurted out.
