But the smile faded from Juliet’s lips almost as quickly as it had come. The image of the hat disappeared beneath the weight of memory and regret.
Aunt Margaret angled her head, her sharp eyes narrowing. “How are things at the manor? Is your …business, as you call it, with Mr. Russell nearly finished? Not that I wish to take you from him if you are yet occupied, for he has been overly gracious in fixing up this old place and providing for my needs, but … well. The truth is I miss you.”
“I miss you too.” She reached for her aunt’s hand, pleased to feel life pulsing beneath the older lady’s skin. “I wish I could give you an answer, but I—I do not know how much longer I shall be there.”
Especially not after last night’s kiss in the study.
Heat flushed her face at the memory. Pulling back, she reclaimed her mug and stared into the brew, anything to keep from fingering her lips yet again.
“Hmm.” Aunt Margaret studied her as if she were a puzzle to be solved. “What troubles you? And don’t say nothing. Your chin always quivers when you are unsettled. Is it Mr. Russell? He has not harmed you, has he?”
Charity jerked up her head, alarmed her aunt would even think such a thing. “No! He has not harmed me at all. Rather … I—” She shot to her feet, the chair wobbling from her abrupt departure, and paced the small room. Cowardly, yes, but theonly way she could admit to her abominable behaviour. “Istruckhim, Aunt.”
“You what?” The older lady gaped—then burst into laughter, sloshing tea onto the table.
Alarmed, Juliet circled back to her. “Aunt Margaret! Have you gone mad?”
Her aunt waved a hand in the air, tears dampening her cheeks as she tried to catch her breath. “Oh, Juliet, my impetuous girl. Forgive me. It’s just that the image of you slapping that poor man is too much.”
“It is not funny.” Juliet stamped her foot. Churlish, but not to be helped. “I have made a complete wreck of things, I’m afraid.”
“Now, now. It cannot be all that bad.” Pulling out a handkerchief, Aunt Margaret dabbed at her eyes while patting the vacated chair. “Come. Tell me what happened.”
Huffing a long sigh, Juliet sank and then tossed back the rest of her drink for fortification. “He kissed me. Last night.”
“Did he?” Aunt’s smile faded, replaced by an inquisitive pinch to her lips. “Was it unwelcome?”
Unwelcome?
She choked. She’d never felt so whole as she had in Henry’s arms, like she’d been broken all her life until his embrace had mended and moulded her into a new being. He’d stolen her breath, her heart, and given both back in ways she couldn’t begin to describe. This time she couldn’t stop the press of her fingers to her lips, a vain attempt to hold in the taste and feel of him.
“No,” she whispered. “It was not.”
Aunt’s face softened with compassion, a faint smile curving her lips. “Then why did you strike him, child?”
“I … I do not know. There were so many feelings, so many thoughts.” She hung her head, even now unable to sort through the snarl of emotions balled up in her chest. Having beencourted before by Colin Chamberlain, she should be no stranger to such a wild flux of passion.
But Colin had never moved her so deeply.
At length, she peered up at Aunt Margaret. “Henry said I undo him. I cannot begin to understand what that means. Is it good? Bad? He sounded angry but then he pulled me into his arms.”
A twinkle lit Aunt’s eyes. “Oh, my dear, it means the man is in love with you.”
“Love?” She blinked, her hand rising to her chest. The word voiced aloud hit harder than she expected, stirring a whirl of emotions she wasn’t ready to name.
“Why such surprise? You are a lovely young lady, but more than that, you are a determined survivor, a woman capable of enduring hardship without breaking. That kind of strength is irresistible.”
“I am a thief who stole game from his grounds!” She slammed her mug on the table, rattling her aunt’s in the process. “I am not of his station.”
Aunt Margaret chuckled. “The heart does not care about society’s limitations. I am certain Mr. Russell forgave you the night you were caught, or he would not house you beneath his roof.”
“But I slapped him, Aunt Margaret. How could he ever forgive such an affront?”
“You underestimate the power of a sincere apology … that is, if you are sorry.”
She folded inwardly, shame curling through her like smoke. “I am,” she mumbled. “But I doubt he will believe me. He barely trusts me as it is.”
Aunt Margaret’s hand rubbed up and down on her arm, as if she might soothe her angst by touch alone. “If Henry Russell is half the man I suspect he is, he will respect your repentance andmatch it with forgiveness. But the first step is for you to take, my dear. The question is will you?”
