He released her hand, leaving her feeling bereft. “If anyone deserves a blackened eye, it is Cunningham,” he said grimly. “And I am of half a mind to give him one myself.”
His words warmed her. But she chased the warmth. “Go now, my lord.”
“Very well.” At last, he stood.
And this new distance between them, too, she felt like a loss. With great effort, she remained where she was, watching as he delivered an elegant bow, as though they faced each other in the formality of the drawing room.
“Sleep well, Eugie.”
“Good evening, Lord Hertford,” she whispered back.
“Cam,” he corrected in hushed tones. “Or husband, if you prefer.”
She bit her lip at his persistence. “Go away, my lord.”
And, taking his brace of candles with him, he disappeared back into the night.
But slumber did not follow in his wake. All she could think was she did not dare trust him. And she did not dare accept his proposal. She would be far better served to find her cottage and hide herself there.
When she finally did fall asleep, she dreamt of roses and Cam.
Chapter Ten
Sleigh rides werein order for the day, because an early snow had blanketed the countryside. The powdery whiteness clung lovingly to barren branches, coating the undulating hills and fields. As always, the newly fallen snow filled Cam with a sense of awe. An appreciation for the peacefulness of nature, the beauty of the world around him.
But that appreciation paled in comparison to the lady at his side.
Miss Eugie Winter was seated alongside him, blankets covering her lap, warm bricks at her feet. Nearly all of her was hidden, in fact. Her gloved hands were inside a fur muff, and a pelisse hid her pleasing feminine shape from him. Her lovely face stood out against the backdrop of snow, a dashing hat keeping her silken brunette locks from his gaze. Her ribbons, he noted, were firmly tied this time.
The chilled air had brought a lush pink to her cheeks, and her lips, too, were kissed with cold.
God, he could not stop stealing looks at her.
He was like a lad, fawning over the first female to pay him any heed. What he felt for her was strange. He had never before experienced anything its equal. He wanted her kisses. All of them. He wanted her smiles, to be their source. He wanted to be her reason to laugh. He wanted to touch her, to feel her beneath him. The combination of desire and something deeper was foreign.
Frightening.
“You are friends with Viscount Aylesford,” she said at last, breaking the silence between them.
The topic was not one he would have preferred. His hands tightened on the reins as he drove them over a gently swelling hill, leaving Abingdon House and their fellow house guests out of sight behind them.
“I am,” he agreed, slanting another look in her direction. “Why do you ask?”
“He is attempting to convince my sister to engage in a feigned betrothal with him,” Eugie said. “I do not trust his motives.”
The words he had heard her say to her sister in the library that day returned to him, words she had spoken about Cam himself.
He is a fortune hunter like all the rest, of course.
She was jaded, Miss Eugie Winter. And something—or rather someone—had made her that way. He gripped the reigns tighter and clenched his jaw as the need to plant Cunningham a facer rose within him once again.
“I suspect you do not trust anyone’s motives,” he observed. “Including mine.”
Another glance in her direction revealed her lush lips had tightened, her chin tipping upward in defiance. “Trust must be earned, not freely given.”
“Fair enough, Eugie.”
“I never gave you leave to call me Eugie,” she pointed out.
