Thaddeus was just about to step up into the carriage when he heard a feminine voice calling for him. For one wild moment, he thought of Isolde – but no, this was not her voice.
He turned and saw Vivienne coming toward him from the inn’s door. He sighed. How had she even known he was about to leave? He had to credit her dedication if nothing else.
“Lord Hartington, you’re leaving so soon?” she asked as she reached him, a pretty pout on her face. “What a pity, I had hoped we might travel together.”
“Forgive me, but as I said yesterday, this was an unplanned delay, and I am in haste to return to Oxford.”
“Well, I am ever so glad that I caught you before you left, for at least I have a chance to express to you how much I enjoyed your company last night.” She leaned slightly closer to Thaddeus with a beguiling look on her face that Thaddeus was sure many men found very appealing. Unfortunately for her, he was not one of them.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Cassian come out of the inn and amble toward them. He cursed internally, knowing his appearance would only lengthen the conversation and delay him further.
“It was such fun, and I was hoping that, once we are back in Oxford, I might visit you at Hartington?” Vivienne was saying. Thaddeus was struggling to find a good way to rebuff this request when Cassian reached them.
“I was just saying to Vivienne that it was nearly time for the annual hunt at Hartington,” Cassian said, smiling. “Quite a few of us have been wondering when our invitations will arrive.”
Thaddeus’s jaw tightened.
“The annual hunt was my father’s tradition,” he said, “and I had very little to do with it.”
“Still,” Cassian protested, “it would be a shame to let such a fun tradition die, especially when everyone looks forward to it every year. It would be terrible to disappoint them.”
Thaddeus had certainly not planned to contemplate hosting future events at Hartington so early in the morning, and especially not to discuss such things with others. His impatience got the better of him, and he barely managed to keep the tone of his reply civil.
“I shall think about it,” he said, backing away from the pair and putting his foot on the carriage step. “Unfortunately, I really must be going. I bid you both a good day.”
He threw them a shallow bow before quickly swinging himself up into the carriage, shutting the door, and rapping to let the coachman know to drive on. He avoided looking out to see the impression his abrupt departure had made.
***
A few hours later, they finally arrived at Hartington. It was late, and he was tired and hungry.
Still, he could not stop himself from inquiring if Isolde had gone up to bed yet. Upon hearing that she was still awake and in the library, his feet seemed to take him in that direction of their own accord.
He gently pushed open the door, not wishing to startle her. His eyes were immediately drawn to where she was sitting by the fire, reading. The firelight glinted off her red hair, giving it a golden shimmer.
Her face was peaceful, fully absorbed in whatever she was reading.
He stepped a little further in and let the door close softly behind him, letting himself take in the sight of her. She looked like she belonged here, in Hartington. With him.
He thought he’d like to commission a painting of her in just this setting and hang it in the hallway with the other family portraits. No, not there – in his study, where only he got to look upon it.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, just gazing at her. She paused her reading and suddenly seemed to sense his presence, looking up. Her eyes met his, and she broke into a smile.
“Lord Hartington!” she exclaimed, jumping up from her chair and rushing up to him. “We did not expect you until tomorrow!”
He matched her smile, and as she got closer, his heart began to pound. He expected her to stop a few feet from him, but held out his hand to her, nevertheless.
He was shocked when she took it with her own, and even more shocked when she stepped closer and lifted up on her toes to kiss his cheek.
He froze, and he felt her do the same. The moment seemed suspended in time, her hand in his, her lips just inches from his cheek. She was so close he could feel her quick, shallow breaths on his skin.
Then time resumed, and she stepped quickly away from him, blushing scarlet.
“Forgive me, My Lord,” she stammered. “I do not know what came over me, I –”
She seemed at a loss for words after that, and he felt the same. After a moment, he dropped her hand and stepped back, bowing slightly.
“I believe I must have startled you, Miss Fairchild. I apologize. I only came to let you know I had returned, and to wish you good night, which I shall do now.”
