That hurt, though anger at the pain was unwarranted. He hadn’t yet shown her much understanding, had he?
“Tell me.” He held her fingers against his cheek. Less of a chance to muck things up when they were touching. “I promise to at least try and understand.”
“Did you meet Miss Watson while you were at Southford? She was the elderly woman who walked me back to the manor.”
“Elderly?” He frowned. “She couldn’t have been a day over sixty.”
“Well, she’s been old forever. What’s elderly, then? Ninety?”
“Ninety is a happy miracle.” A strange emotion stirred in his stomach as he imagined them together and old. He cleared his throat. “I was not formerly introduced to Miss Watson. But I saw you with her in the library.”
“You saw me in the library?” She studied him out of the corner of her eye. “You didn’tlooklike you saw me.”
“I knew you were watching me.” His voice went velvet. “Ialwaysknow when you’re watching me.”
She lifted her chin. “Merely to glare at you for having the audacity to arrive so late to the wedding breakfast. It’s called a weddingbreakfast, Rayne. Notnuncheon.”
“I was late; I know. Farring’s fault, actually. He was, at that very moment, weaving me into his nefarious plan.”
She nodded slowly. “Of course he was… He had to convince you first, didn’t he? Anyway…Iwas looking up Edmund Alistair Clarke, Viscount Belhaven, and discovering he happened to be a respectable widower. As to why that matters…well, he is also Miss Watson’s love.”
“Lover? Southford’s spinster has a lover?”
“I saidlove, not lover.”
Julia wiggled her fingers as if to pull away. He secured them, captive within his own.
“They were in love. And love…” Her eyes went pink. “Shouldn’t be wasted. Itoldyou you wouldn’t understand.”
“Wouldn’t I?” He ran his thumb over her knuckles.Peak…valley. Peak…valley.“So you wrote Belhaven to tell him of Miss Watson’s continued tendre?”
She looked fixedly at their joined hands. “Silly, I know. Not something that’s done at all. But I couldn’tabidethinking he might be dreaming of her…and her of him…with time running short and”—her breath caught—“neither of them knowing.”
She’d been correct. He couldn’t understand. But now he knew what kept the fire in her wild soul burning. She had a poet’s heart wrapped inside a warrior’s spirit.
Terribly intoxicating. But could he ever live up to that call?
“Why did you write him, then? Why did that feeling well up inside you, strong enough to be heedless of decorum?”
“Because I was hurt—”
Ouch.
“—and angry.” Her skin flushed. “And I didn’t want this whole journey to have been in vain. Because for myself”—tears webbed her lashes—“I’d given up.”
Given up.Her words burrowed in his sternum. Lady Julia Stanley did not give up.Ever.“What had you given up?”
“I’d given up on love,” she said crossly.
The small window of vulnerability was closing. He tightened his grip on her hand. “Have you still?”
“I don’t know.” She lifted her gaze. “We can’t seem to converse without fighting.”
“True.” Even now, remaining midstream between consternation and lust demanded his full concentration. “I can’t promise that will change.”
With her free hand, she wiped away her tears. “What can you promise?”
“At a minimum?” He tilted his head to catch her gaze. “Pleasure.”
