Or perhaps it would prove her all the more a fool.
Another glance over her shoulder verified he continued to wait. The man must possess the patience of Job. Could she trust him to remain steadfast?
Bolstering her courage, Piper gestured for him to join her,wondering if she was condemning herself in the process.
* * *
Connor fell in step next to her with a sense of fleeting triumph. A single allowance hadn’t won him anything more than a second chance with her. An opportunity to prove himself. It had been evident from the start that she was hiding something, hidingfromsomething. Someone.
Fear alone didn’t drive her. Betrayal did. For one so young, she possessed an incredible lack of faith in human decency.
“My mother sacked my governess for allowing me to readMiddlemarch.” The direction of her conversation was far removed from what he might have guessed. They walked side by side a few moments more. She was a tall woman and the length of her no-nonsense stride was a comfortable one for him to match. Tilting her head, she cast her eyes from beneath the brim of her hat, the book in question bouncing on her thigh with each step. “Are you not curious why?”
Keeping his pace in line with hers, Connor idly scanned the path ahead as he framed his answer. Hewasimmensely curious. About her statement, about the trials that had incited her withdrawal into hiding, about the reason her innate spirit had become masked by the same skittishness an untamed horse who’d been put under the whip of an inhumane master bore.
As she set the pace of their steps, he meant to allow her to do the same with their conversation. Reveal what she would, as she would. Hassling her would merely drive her away and he had no desire to do that.
That resolve didn’t stop him from making conversation. “Many would say that its morbid tone is inappropriate for a young lady. Although, I would assume that’s no’ the reason.”
“No.” She frowned. “I had never considered it morbid.”
“Pessimistic, then.”
With a shrug, she allowed the opinion. “Mother hadn’t read the book, mind you, but she’d heard it was generally disdainful of marriage. She thought it set a poor example for her imminently marriageable daughter, you see?”
He was beginning to. Beginning to sense his initial suspicions had been correct. Regardless, he would not ask. She would tell him or not, in her own time.
“I quite anticipated it at one time. Marriage, that is,” she quietly confessed. “With all the enthusiasm of a young girl who didn’t spare a thought to what lay beyond the dances and courtship. My mother didn’t want to allow me even that.”
When Connor held his tongue, she stopped in her tracks with a scowl. “Are you not going to ask me if it was nothing more than a spoiled child’s flight of fancy that compelled me to run away? Are you going to ask me nothing?”
“I doubt verra much that ye set off on a whim.” He took her hand in his. Her icy fingers curled into his palm, a slight tremble relaying more tension than her pert query conveyed. “It is no’ for me to judge ye, lass.”
“You might be the only one to think that.” Her nose wrinkled rather adorably. “It was no whim, Mr. MacKintosh. I thank you for being the first to see that.”
The clouds of worry that had pervaded her bonny blue eyes since he’d asked her what she ran from began to clear. A smile as bright as the sun above dawned in their depths. They had yet to address the core of her problems. In truth, he scarcely knew more than he suspected before. Even so, he’d managed to put her at ease and Connor was content with that.
For now.
“Ye’re welcome, lass.” Her sweet lips quirked at one corner and an answering warmth swelled within him. “What is it?”
“I’m wondering, which are you?” She tilted her head to the side when he cocked his own in question. “From the quote? Which are you? The wit or the idiot?”
A chuckle of surprise and appreciation bubbled up in his throat. “Aye. ‘The troublesome ones in a family are usually either the wits or the idiots,’” he repeated the quote in question. “What leads ye to believe I’m the troublesome sort at all?”
“I’ve got a feeling you’ve a knack for it.”
True laughter spilled forth and a grin stretched her lips, mischief lighting her expression as they resumed their promenade. For certain, the lass was something of a wit herself. Without a doubt, she spelled a fair bit of trouble for him. In more ways than one.
“A near fatal blow, lass,” he teased, hand over his heart. It was either that or an encore of that tantalizing kiss. If he started along that path, he wouldn’t want to stop. “One worthy of my sister. I should love for ye to meet her.”
“I doubt I will ever have the opportunity.”
The sunshine in her eyes dimmed for a moment. Regret, he thought. Looking ahead, he gestured to the grand house in the distance and sought to assure her. “Oh, ye shall. My sister and her husband plan to make Dinton Grange their permanent home. Far be it from me and my brothers to tell a Scotswoman what to do, but…”
Connor’s words trailed away as he glanced around him for the lass. She’d stopped in her tracks while he kept on walking.
“Mrs. Milbourne?” He turned back with a frown. “My apologies, lass. I dinnae intend to make ye fret. Ye’ve naught to fear anything more from my sister than fro—” A stray thought cut off his words.
