‘Not yet, at least.’
He clutched his heart and pantomimed a mortal wound. ‘You took pleasure in that.’ Then he held out a hand to her and shook his head. ‘I suppose I deserve it. I tortured you, when we first met. Remember the book in my night table?’
‘I…’ She stopped before she could say more. But she remembered. He knew she did. The same blush stained her cheek now as it did the day he’d tricked her into reading fromFanny Hill.
He leaned forward, ready for her next words.
‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ she said, thoughts gathered and defenses raised again.
‘Of course not,’ he said, his smile turning smug. ‘I forgot that we have never met until just last week. You could not possibly be the woman whose lips were so sweet I have not stopped thinking about them for over a year.’
‘If…this woman was so special to you,’ she said cautiously, ‘you were not thinking of her last night at the theatre.’
‘You are speaking of Harriette Wilson,’ he said. ‘I have not visited with her or any other woman since before the duel.’
‘It did not look that way,’ she said glaring at him.
‘I cannot help the way it looked,’ he said. ‘I can only give you my word as a gentleman that what I said is true.’
She snorted.
It hurt. But he should not have been surprised. No one else in London had believed his change in character, either.
‘The woman I knew a year ago would have believed in me,’ he said softly. ‘She saw things in me that I could no longer see in myself.’
She met his gaze, now, her familiar grey eyes staring into his as they had done when he’d first kissed her. The woman who had loved him back to life was still there, hiding inside the cynical beauty. He had to find a way to reach her.
‘I would give anything to get her back,’ he said. ‘Even if just for an hour. She departed so suddenly I did not get her direction. And she left something that I am sure was quite precious to her.’
‘Her innocence?’ Cassie replied. But there was a breathless quality behind the sharp words as if she wanted to be that woman, as well.
‘No,’ he said, rummaging in the pocket of his coattail. ‘Her Bible.’
Before she could stop it, her hand was rising to take it from him. Then, she jerked it back down, clasping both hands in her lap, lacing the fingers tightly to stifle the urge.
‘I am sure it has great sentimental value to her, whoever she was. It is inscribed inside the cover.’ He opened it and held it out so she could see as he read. ‘To our loving daughter, with all prayers and blessings. Father and Mother.’ He glanced over at her, waiting.
She bit her lip.
‘I am sure she is missing it. I would most like to return it.’
‘Before it catches flames in your hands, you devil.’
He smiled, for there was a time when he’d have accepted such an insult as a badge of honour. ‘It is rather a surprise that both it and I are unscathed.’ He closed the cover again and watched as she stared at it, wavering between the truth and the lie she wanted to maintain.
Was she still so afraid that her brother would learn what she had done? Or was she terrified of admitting that she might feel something for him?
Either way, it was cruel to torture her. He did not have the heart to do so any longer. He held the book out to her. ‘I suggest you hold it.’ When she didn’t take it, he urged it on her, pressing it between her clasped hands. ‘Please, for the safety of all concerned. Such a valuable item is better in the hands of a vicar’s daughter.’
Then, he could not resist a final jab. ‘You are pure of spirit and would never lie. Take it and tell me it does not belong with you.’
She glared at him, still silent. She stared down at the book and the frown faded into something sweet and sad. ‘If you insist, I will keep it for you.’ Then, she seemed to rally, her smile returning. ‘If you should need it back, for any reason, to improve your character perhaps…’
He laughed again. ‘I will know where to find it.’
‘Thank you.’ It was not exactly the admission he’d hoped for. But there was nothing mocking in the words. Her hand rested on the spine of the Bible like a caress.
He stared at it for a moment, remembering her, in his room, holding the book just as she was now. She could not hide the woman she was, gentle, caring, and so very different from the women he was used to in London.
