Within, there was a carved wall where a ceaseless flow of water trickled into a large marble basin before traveling elsewhere in unseen piping. He had never observed the like inside a house, but then, he had never seen anything near to any detail of Coddington Hall in his life, regardless of how insignificant and minute the detail.
“It does make a pleasant sound,” he acknowledged grudgingly as he noted the marble carving on the wall behind the fountain. “Diana, I presume?”
“Her quiver and arrow give her away,” Tilly said. “Isn’t she lovely? So much of this great hall is bold and commanding of attention. But here is a quiet place where I have often found myself drawn in times of reflection. The water soothes me, and I feel for Diana. She is always such a lonely figure when I see her.”
He wondered if Tilly was lonely, and then he reminded himself he must not care.
“She is indeed lovely,” he said, but he was no longer looking at the sculpture when he said the words.
Because the early morning sun pouring through the massive bank of windows opposite them had once more lovingly illuminated her. And she possessed more vibrant beauty than the cold, marble Diana ever could.
She turned to him, catching his stare, and her cheeks turned a slight shade of pink that he found utterly irresistible. “If I am speaking too much, you must only tell me. When I am nervous, I have a dreadful habit of chattering.”
He wanted to kiss her again. The urge struck him suddenly, taking him by surprise. He wanted to feel her lips beneath his here in the great hall, and to the devil with the servants and the forbidding busts of Dukes of Longleigh past.
“Why should you be nervous?” he asked, his voice low.
“You are quite handsome, Mr. Carstairs.”
There again, the hated name, the reminder this was a game they played.
A game of Longleigh’s making.
His puppets, dancing on a bloody string.
“Robin,” he pressed, loathing this lie more than ever.
“Forgive me.”
“You apologize too much.” He brushed an errant curl, which had slipped over her eye, to the side. “There is no need for you to ask my forgiveness.”
Indeed, one day, she would realize he ought to have begged hers.
“I am accustomed to always being wrong,” she said softly.
Again, the specter of the Duke of Longleigh emerged. Curse his bastard of a father. Adrian wondered what he could have done to Tilly. Told himself he should not ask.
And yet…
“The duke, I presume?”
Her head lowered, her gaze returning to the fountain. “I should not speak of it. He is your uncle.”
What would she say if she knew Longleigh was his father? That the despicable villain was paying his bastard son—whom he had not deemed worthy of his regard before now—to bed his wife so he could have a legal heir that shared his blood.
Adrian swallowed down the knot of self-loathing at the thought.
“I do not like him, Tilly. You need never defend him to me,” he said roughly.
Too roughly, for she flinched. “This is all so strange. I do not know how to be, what to say.”
“Be yourself,” he said, softening his tone, for the anger in his voice was not meant for her. It was directed at the man who had sired him, directed at himself for falling into this spider’s web. “Be yourself, because you are lovely. I find you enchanting.”
And truly, he did.
The flush had returned to her cheeks, but she did not meet his gaze. Instead, she tugged at his arm, guiding him from the hidden alcove at last. “I fear that I shall be at this all day if I keep you standing about. Come. You must see the chapel next.”
He allowed her to lead him to a new room, leaving the conversation where it was for now. The chamber smelled as if it was often kept closed, but mayhap that was the intricately carved wall panels that imparted the odor. Or mayhap the Duke of Longleigh had no appreciation for prayer. The latter would hardly be a surprise.
