And Crispin has never loved me.
The realization settled in her stomach to the same beat as the heavy, booted footsteps crossing the entrance hall.
Esme turned to face him, her hands neatly folded and her face composed.
Jennifer scurried ahead. “Sir Crispin de Gough, milady.”
But the servant had scarcely finished her announcement when Crispin strode past her and grasped Esme’s hands in his, dispatching his heavy satchel by their feet.
“I have come,” he announced.
For the smallest of moments, Esme’s heart picked up speed. His nut-brown eyes were full of affection as he smiled down at her. His chestnut curls, which she had so loved to run her fingers through, beckoned to her just as loudly as ever. But his chiseled cheekbones gave him an appraising look, and his large hands gripped hers with a trace too much determination.
She looked down to see that his hands bore the mark of long days in the saddle. His fingers were stained, and his nails were dirty.
Esme extracted her hands with some difficulty. She would never again allow herself to be swept away by false promises.
“Crispin. I was hoping to see you some time before this.”
“I was delayed, terribly delayed. Events did not go to plan.” Rather than seek to renew their connection, Crispin began to pace up and down the great hall, tracking mud on the rugs in the process. He coughed and put a hand to his throat. “Can I have some wine, Esme? I am half-parched.”
She quite appreciated the distraction of pouring wine into the same goblet she had drank from earlier. Passing it to Crispin, he drank deeply and gestured for more.
This time, she took a good look at him whilst he was occupied with the wine. His skin had lost its bronzed look, in fact he had dark circles around his eyes and his face, beneath the dust, was pale. His movements were jerky and anxious. His smile, as he placed the goblet on the table and came to stand before here, was entirely insincere.
“My own Esme. ’Tis the memory of you that kept me going.”
Esme folded her arms. “Where exactly have you been?”
“’Tis of no consequence.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, making her wince at the weight he pressed upon her as well as the sourness of his breath. “What matters now is the future. You and I.”
Esme’s heart stilled.
I do not want that future.
He must have seen the hesitation in her face, for Crispin’s eyes quickly narrowed. “We are betrothed,” he said, dampening his lips with his tongue. “You are my faerie queen; the only woman I want to be with.”
Esme felt very calm. ’Twas almost as if she was watching this performance from afar. Two principal players stood amongst the low-burning candles in a hall that had already seen so much this night.
Crispin’s overtures did not affect her because she knew them to be false.
Now that she had observed true feeling and true emotion, from Adam, she could recognize the counterfeit. Though sparse and sober, Adam’s declarations came from a place of truth and honesty.
Crispin said much but meant little.
“I am no faerie queen,” she said. “Indeed, this very day I have been working in the kitchen.”
Crispin wrinkled his nose. “’Tis a blessing then, that I have come to save you from such a fate.”
Esme lifted her chin. The fire in the grate was merely smoldering now, but she no longer felt any chill. Indeed, resolution burned in her veins. She spoke clearly. “I do not need to be saved.”
A beat passed, during which she saw surprise and indecision race across Crispin’s chiseled features. “I am sure the days must have grown long and dull for you here, sweet Esme.”
She could not stand before him any longer. She turned away and walked to the window seat, lowering herself onto the cushions despite the draught from the open shutters. Now that some distance was between them, she could see a somewhat desperate slant to Crispin’s shoulders. He held himself ready for battle, she realized, quelling a flicker of fear.
Surely, I have naught to fear from him.
“At first, they did,” she admitted. “But I have grown used to the quiet rhythm of life at Ember Hall.” Her mind skittered to Adam, but she could not allow herself to think of him now.
