Blushing, Matthew removed his spectacles and rubbed at his face.
Almost immediately he hastened to replace them, as the sound of the library doors opening interrupted his silent study. The gentle swish of silks set his heart skipping.
“Matthew.”
So few people called him that. Spoken in that low, velvety voice, he wished to hear it all the time.Calm yourself, man, he warned himself as he turned about.It hasn’t been that long.
Her familiarity suggested they had privacy. Still, he glanced about the room, surveying the empty couches and tables, scanning the shelves for any lurking servants or young lads. They were, blessedly, alone.
He welcomed her into his arms, gathering her close and placing a kiss upon the top of her head. His heart seized at the familiar floral scent of her shining chestnut locks.
“I’d been looking for—” she started, attempting to break away, but he pulled her closer, hushing her.
“Please,” he breathed, placing another kiss atop her hair. “For just a moment.”
To think, married people could have this whenever the fancy struck them. The embrace of someone who cared for them. He felt a fool, having deprived himself of such warmth, such happiness for so long…
“A strange man came by yesterday evening,” she said flatly, pushing back from him ever so slightly, her hands upon his chest.
Matthew froze.
Everything about her demeanor had changed. Her voice had become cold and remote, her face inscrutable.
Matthew knew that face, the one she wore for others. Not the charming grin with her dimples showing, her hair long over bare shoulders. Not the Lady Caplin he’d the privilege of knowing, the woman who found him so alluring. This was the aloof empress of the drawing room, one whose every move was a calculation. They were quite alike, he realized in a sudden moment of clarity.
Except he was most himself when finding solutions to problems, dreaming up ways to turn circumstances to his favor. For her, it was just another role she played.
He allowed her to walk away, her hands folded serenely before her.
“He came around the kitchens, so I’ve been told. Thankfully no one admitted him, but Wardle says he was a rough sort.”
Panic coursed through his veins.
“He claimed,” she began hesitantly, as if carefully considering her next words, “to know you.”
Just then he realized she appeared weary; perhaps she’d slept poorly the night prior. For some reason, a frantic thought entered his mind: Since they had begun their affair, she had yet to ask him to call her by her Christian name. How long would it be before she did? It was occurring to him that she might never.
Matthew swallowed, the initial spike of panic subsiding only to leave a dull, anxious ache lodged in his chest.
“What did he want?”
One elegant dark brow raised.
Immediately he realized his folly. He ought to have rejected the notion outright, and claimed he knew no such sort.
But that would be a damned lie.
“He begged an introduction,” she said sharply, as if throwing the gauntlet down, daring him to refute it.
How he wished she was still in his arms.
Matthew suddenly felt his heart take off at a gallop again. He stepped back and turned away from her. He didn’t deserve to be here with her, in this sacred space of hers.
“As Wardle recounts, at that point the man was sent away and instructed to never return.” She paused; he heard her skirts rustle as she followed behind him. “You don’t imagine… that, well, perhaps we have not been cautious enough?”
Of course. She’d have no reason to believe Matthew would actually know the man, who was practically certain to be Charles Sharples.
Perhaps he could still salvage this, and retain her affection, her touch.
