“Heishandsome, but I was not trying…”
Wadebridge held her gaze. One lone finger drummed against the umbrella handle, echoing the pounding of her pulse. How did he know he made her heart race?
Cassandra shook her head, trying to clear her mind. “…That is to say, we are not…”
A sharp look from Honoria silenced that protest. She might deny the attraction she felt for him, but Cassandra absolutely could not walk past the duke with her nose in the air.
His rank and station demanded respect, to say nothing of the fact that he was blocking their way!
She left the comfort of the umbrella for the covered lych gate. As she approached, Wadebridge touched his hat and bid her ‘good morning’. The churchyard grew silent.
She curtseyed. “I don’t recall giving you permission to court me, Your Grace.”
“Ah. You intend to snub me?”
“I could hardly forbid a gentleman from standing in a churchyard on a Sunday,” she said, loudly enough for all to hear. To him, she whispered, “You could’ve come inside.”
Wadebridge offered her his arm, and she took it. “I never attend services.”
“Are you without faith, Your Grace?”
His brow furrowed, as if he contemplated the question. “Not entirely.”
A short answer to something that was really none of her business. Cassandra was glad for his brevity, as she did not wish to know him better. To even ask such a personal question was utter folly.
With his free hand, the duke deployed his umbrella and held the gate open for her. Cassandra turned to glance at the wide-eyed faces behind her. Did His Grace intend to share this umbrella? Surely, two unmarried young people could not walk together beneath its shelter.
“Come, Miss Staunton. Your pretty frock will be ruined if we don’t get you home.”
His logic was sound—she felt her hems dampening as she stood upon the path.
Cassandra allowed him to lead her toward the village green. Honoria followed a few steps behind. The trio walked within full view of the others, yet their conversations were private.
Wadebridge had made sure of that.
Snug beneath the umbrella, she could smell his shaving lotion, faint and expensive. She admired the cut of his clothes, though she was no expert on the current fashion. Cassandra knew only that she admired the way he smelled, the way he dressed, the way he was always so attentive to her.
His arm was strong where she touched him. Steady and sure.
“Have the Raineses gone?” Wadebridge asked.
“No, but they daren’t show their faces.” Truly, the village was better off without that haughty mother and daughter. They were a nasty pair, even if they had once been the envy of everyone in Longstone. “We do so love to gossip, and the Raineses sadly found themselves on the wrong end of our collective tongues.”
“Althorne has told me the village is filled with scandalmongers.”
She glanced over at him. “A pity you did not heed his warning.”
He met her gaze. “You know how I feel about the opinions of others, Miss Staunton.”
“Yes, your actions today have made that quite clear. Did you think prowling in the churchyard would escape notice? Or was my neighbors’ attention precisely what you wanted?”
Wadebridge frowned and shook his head. “I sought only your attention, madam.”
“Well, I could hardly ignore you, could I? And now you are escorting me home, so I assume my sister and I played right into your hand.”
His Grace stopped abruptly in the lane. Holding the umbrella over their heads, he tilted it to shield them from prying eyes. Even Honoria was left out. “I will go if you tell me to,” he said, softly. “One word—‘go’—and I shall leave you in peace.”
She ought to have said it. Indeed, she opened her mouth to form the words, yet they died in her throat. She could not cut him loose. She was not quite certain she wanted him to go.
