Dinner had gone fromuncomfortable (because of the sneezing and the oversized ginger tabby sleeping on Will’s foot) to downright unusual with remarkable alacrity. His fork paused over his fileted fish while Adelaide sputtered.
“Jane… Pawston?” she asked.
Their hostess ran her hand down the arched spine of the gray feline in her lap. “Yes, she’s the leader of the group. That one—” she pointed to a calico curled next to the soup tureen, “—is Catherine Meowland, and Henry Clawlins should be around somewhere. He’s my big ginger boy.”
Will shifted his foot and was rewarded with claws to the ankle. “I’ve seen him,” he said through clenched teeth, then leaned away from the table to blow his nose yet again.
Adelaide appeared nonplussed. “How lovely. And that one?”
Mrs. Ludgate turned towards the bookshelf, where a black and white tuxedo cat licked its paws with deliberate care. “That’sElhissabeth Bennett. If she doesn’t accept Fitzwhisker Darcy’s proposal soon, she’ll be staying on the shelf!”
Adelaide nodded amiably and launched into a series of questions about the cats’ romantic lives, and a strange sense of pride pressed at the inside of Will’s ribcage. Her ability to connect with this odd proprietress showed the depth of her compassion, her limitless empathy. She was a wonder.
But she would not be his.
Knowing this, however, did nothing to dissuade Will from thinking of her as his. The thought had become increasingly intrusive since they left Saltford until he’d claimed her mouth and her cunt like a brute by the roadside. As though he could declare ownership because he had coupled with her. But she’d been the one doing the claiming, etching her monogram deeper in his bones every time she called his name in pleasure.
He craved her again, in his arms and in his bed. He knew this urgency wasn’t so simple as lust, but what he had been missing since his father passed, the sense of completion, of fulfillment. Her attention was all-consuming, overwhelming but so addictive, filling in his empty spaces. He wanted all of her thoughts, her words, her facial expressions, every one of them directed at him. How dare some aristocrat claim a single part of her and ignore the rest?
But he was not the gallant knight riding in to save the damsel in distress. Sheintendedto marry this faceless lord who had all the power and privilege Will lacked. Adelaide had chosen her path, one that would bring her satisfaction, and telling her how he felt would only get in her way.
“Tell me, Mrs. Shipley,” their hostess said, and Will’s heart kicked at the name. “How did you and your husband meet?”
She shot him a shy glance from beneath her flaxen lashes. “He rescued me when my horse threw a shoe. I knew immediately that he was special.”
His breathing had become more urgent now, completely unrelated to the wheezing he’d experienced earlier. Was she telling the truth, or was she covering for her lie?
“Oh, are you a farrier, Mr. Shipley?”
Will smothered a sneeze and reached for his napkin, only to find Mr. Clawlins had claimed it for a pillow. “A blacksmith, ma’am.”
“Gracious.” Mrs. Ludgate beamed and gave a conspiratorial lean towards him. “You must be quite talented to win the affection of a lady like this. Was her father amenable to your match, or did you have to steal away to wed?”
Adelaide pulled in a breath, but Will spoke first. “He did not approve.”
Adelaide’s gaze burned his profile, but he ignored it. She might be comfortable lying to an old lady, but he wouldn’t pretend her father would sanction their union. A talented blacksmith? Will hadn’t even started his apprenticeship, one that most likely would amount to nothing. He’d never be able to provide the privileged life to which Adelaide was accustomed, and before long, she’d resent him for it.
He would resent himself first.
Mrs. Ludgate, oblivious to his whirling thoughts, speared a piece of her fish and fed it to the feline Mr. Darcy, who paused in licking his own arse on the table to eat it. “Well, then it must have been love at first sight.”
“I stopped believing in love at first sight during my first season.” Her lovely pale throat worked for a minute, and when Adelaide spoke again, her voice scraped at his heart. “If such a thing existed, it belonged to princesses from fairy tales, the ones who did everything right, who stood out in the right way. Not girls like me.”
Will dug his fingertips into his thighs to resist reaching out for her, to fight the urge to find every single person who ever madeAdelaide feel like she was too much, or too little, when she was wholly and utterly perfect.
Perhaps not perfect for them, because they were fools. She was perfect forhim. If only he could have her.
“But with Will,” she continued, and he forced himself to exhale slowly, to control his reaction. “With him, I never felt out of place. He made my mind calm.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Ludgate said with atsk. “True love should make your mindrace, not be calm.”
Adelaide chuckled, dropped her chin. “My mind races enough as it is, always trying to find the right way to be. With him, I could simply… be.”
Will’s chest ached, like his heart was going to push itself free and toss itself into her bare hands. He pushed himself to standing, and Henry Clawlins released his ankle with a perturbed growl. “Pardon me,” he rasped. “I—I need a moment.”
As he launched out of the dining room, past the labyrinth of frail furniture and so many blasted cats, his lungs strained for air. Was he considering tossing his plans aside for a woman he barely knew? A woman who might find him suitable for a tryst never a husband? The life of a country blacksmith’s wife wouldn’t satisfy her brilliant mind, and knowing she was unfulfilled would destroy him.
“Will!”
