Very well. If that was how he intended to be, she would not offer him the opportunity. Theywoulddiscuss this, and without the distractions of London and all it had to offer. Let him avoid her while trapped in a carriage. Perhapsthenthey might have a conversation.
A tiny voice whispered in the back of her head that it was too late—she had already lost him—but she quashed it determinedly. Percy still wanted her. Perhaps he did not love her now, but he wanted her. And she wanted him. Perhapsshedid not love him—she did not know how to, or what love evenwas—but that didn’t matter.
She would not allow this to be the end. Percy had done enough saving of their marriage. Now it was her turn.
Wind tugged at Percy’s hair as he urged his mount faster, across Battersea Common Ground and away from London, towards Clapham. Not Hyde Park today—he was not in the mood to promenade and exchange bows with all and sundry. No, this morning, unreasonably early, he needed a means to find his equilibrium.
That morning, as he’d listened to her prepare herself for bed, he’d stood by the door, willing himself not to go to her. Their relationship was fragile enough as it stood. Complicating it with physical advances he couldn’t be certain she would accept was not the solution. He knew that.
At least, part of his body did. The other part, which had held most of his body’s supply of blood, had been far more difficult to persuade.
Hence the brisk ride.
Once he returned, he would be in a better frame of mind to consider where the hell they were to go from there.
The streaming wind did much to cool the pounding of his blood, and by the time he reached Clapham and partook of a late luncheon and a tankard of ale, his mood had improved somewhat. Only to be dashed when he returned home and he found the servants bustling around, hauling his possessions about with abandon.
“Percy.” Cecily herself stood at the top of the stairs, fiery curls tumbling a little haphazardly around her face. He longed to brush them back into place, but there was a fierceness to her expression he recognised all too well.
Boudicca, about to declare war.
He assumed an indifferent expression. If she intended to haul him over the coals for his behaviour the previous evening, he would be forced to remind her thatshehad been the one to kiss him. Admittedly, he had asked for it, but that was hardly the point.
“Cecily,” he said, looking up at her.
A haughty brow rose. “You’ve finally returned.”
He waved a hand at the scurrying servants. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“It’s summer.”
“So I’ve observed, but that doesn’t provide an explanation.”
One hand in her skirts, she descended the stairs until she was only a few above him, their noses almost level. At this height, he could see the dark shadows around her eyes, and it took all his self-control not to touch her face in an attempt to ease the strain there. “I thought it was time to retire to Hollyhead.”
He frowned. “Hollyhead? We hadn’t intended to leave for another few weeks.”
“Yes, well.” Her mouth thinned. “I thought it might benefit us to leave earlier.”
He searched her face, trying to find her reasoning behind her stubborn jaw. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
“Why not? Have you any desire to stay in London?”
Aside from a few loose ends to clear up and some invitations he would have to turn down, nothing. He could conduct all other business from Holyhead—as well she knew. “I thought you might, my social butterfly,” he said.
Her jaw tightened. “I am perfectly capable of turning down a few engagements.”
“So it seems.”
She stepped closer still. “When we last spoke on the subject, you said you would spend the summer elsewhere.”
Confused, he frowned. “Is that what you would prefer?”
“No. I wish you to return to our house with me.” She raised her chin. “I will not accept no for an answer. We leave tomorrow morning.”
Just a few nights ago, he would have fought her on this. Protected himself and his heart the only way he knew how. But she had given him hope as he’d rarely had reason to hope before. So, he inclined his head. “Very well.”
“May I ask you something, Odysseus?”
