“For last night,” he continued, his voice low, steady. “I had no right to approach you as I did. It was inappropriate and inconsiderate, and I regret having made you uncomfortable.”
A flicker of something — disappointment, perhaps — crossed her expression. “You have not made me uncomfortable,” she said after a pause. “Merely… uncertain.”
He inclined his head slightly. “Then for that, too, I am sorry.”
Her gaze met his — wary, searching. “Are you?”
For a heartbeat, he said nothing. The truth hovered between them, impossible to ignore.
“For your discomfort and uncertainty, yes,” he said at last, his voice roughened by honesty. “I am sorry for that.”
She stilled. “My lord?—”
He leaned forward, elbows braced against the table, his eyes locked on hers. “That kiss, Miss Ashcombe—Eliza—, may be the one thing I have done since my arrival in Dunrake-on-Swale that I do not doubt. Nor do I regret it.”
The words hung between them, weighted and dangerous.
Her breath caught audibly, her lashes lowering as if to shield herself from the intensity of his gaze. “You should not say such things,” she whispered.
“Perhaps not,” he agreed softly. “But I’ve spent the better part of the night reminding myself that I am a man of restraint. It seems I am failing rather miserably.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. He could see the pulse fluttering at her throat, could almost feel the warmth radiating from her across the short expanse of polished wood.
At that moment, the door opened, and the footman returned with the coffee. The spell broke instantly. Gabriel sat back, his expression once more composed, the perfect image of civility.
“Thank you,” he said coolly, and the servant resumed his post as if nothing had transpired.
But everythinghad.
Eliza kept her eyes fixed on her plate, though the tremor in her hand as she reached for her cup seemed far morepronounced. The silence stretched again, now charged with everything left unsaid.
When at last she rose, murmuring some excuse about joining her grandmother in the conservatory, he stood as she passed. The faint brush of her skirts against him as she passed felt like a brand. Close enough to touch but still out of his reach, he thought.
As the door closed behind her, he let out a slow, unsteady breath and pressed a hand to his temple.
He had no business wanting her.
And yet, want her he did — in defiance of reason, propriety, and whatever common sense remained to him.
He returned to his seat, brooding at the table as the remainder of his breakfast and the freshly poured coffee grew cold.
Chapter
Fifteen
The conservatory at Ravenswood Hall was a world of its own — warm and damp, its glass walls holding the scent of earth and living things. The air shimmered faintly with heat from the braziers that were placed strategically through out. In the center, water trickled from a small fountain, the sound slightly muffled by the myriad plants. Sunlight filtered through the panes, striking the broad leaves of ferns and the bright clusters of hothouse flowers that reached greedily for the light.
Eliza moved among them, her hand brushing absently against the soft foliage of a myrtle that had grown nearly wild in its corner pot. She had come there seeking quiet, but the thoughts that haunted her were far louder than the hum of bees outside the glass.
She was out of sorts. Two sleepless nights in a row, one from pleasant dreams that turned to nightmares and the other from memories of a kiss that should not have happened but that she could not bring herself to regret. Just thinking of the thrill that had raced through her at the first touch of his lips to hers, left her breathless. She could still feel it. So real that even the memory made her heart leap and her breath catch. It waswrong. Improper. Reckless. And yet the thought of repeating it, of having a chance to experience that again, prompted a warmth inside her. It coursed through her veins with such fervor, that she ought to have been ashamed.
Behind her, Helena’s footsteps were soft on the tiled floor. The older woman was pretending to examine the tall stalks of jasmine climbing along an iron trellis, but Eliza could feel the weight of her scrutiny all the same.
“You have been uncommonly quiet this morning,” Helena observed at last. Her voice was calm, almost idle, but Eliza knew better.
“I am merely admiring the plants,” she said, her tone carefully even. “It is remarkable how lush they are, considering the chill beyond these walls.”
Her grandmother smiled faintly. “A fine observation. And yet, I cannot help but notice that you’ve been staring at the same leaf for the better part of ten minutes.”
