"Indeed." Samuel's response was clipped and formal, devoid of warmth. "Country weather can be unpredictable."
"Unlike London weather, which announces its intentions withnotice."
"Precisely."
The conversation stumbled forward, each exchange more stilted than the last, while the groom continued his tasks and rain pounded on the roof. Alice dried her hair with mechanical movements, watching droplets fall onto the straw below, painfully aware of Samuel’s presence beside her.
They had not looked directly at each other since the interruption. An unspoken agreement kept their gazes averted. The almost kiss lingered between them, unacknowledged and impossible to forget, a moment suspended in time that neither could touch without risking everything it contained.
"The rain is lessening," Samuel remarked after a silence that stretched uncomfortably.
"So it appears." Alice folded the towel with unnecessary care. "We should return to the house. There will be questions about our absence. We have been gone far too long, and in a storm at that.”
"Of course."
They moved toward the door, maintaining the careful distance of strangers rather than two people who had just been breathing the same air. The groom offered a cheerful farewell, promising to see to the horses personally, blissfully unaware of the moment he had disrupted.
Outside, the rain had softened to a steady drizzle. Alice stepped into the damp air, feeling it coolagainst her flushed cheeks, both welcome and unwelcome.
Samuel fell into step beside her, his stride measured and hands clasped behind his back. They walked toward the house in silence, their shoulders nearly touching, their gazes fixed firmly ahead.
"Lady Alice," he said as the house loomed before them, his voice regaining its formal tone.
"Lord Crewe."
They did not speak again until they reached the terrace doors, where they parted with the briefest of nods, two acquaintances who had weathered an inconvenient storm, nothing more.
But as Alice climbed the stairs toward her chamber, she felt the ghost of his fingers at her temple, the heat of his breath against her lips, the weight of the kiss that lingered in the air, unfulfilled yet undeniable.
The weight of it pressed against her ribs like a second heartbeat.
CHAPTER 9
The dining room of Oakford Hall glowed with a hundred candles, their flames dancing in crystal and silver. At the threshold, Alice paused, drawn by the warmth.
She had chosen a deep sapphire silk gown that shimmered in the candlelight, the bodice daringly low. Her hair, styled in what her maid had called ‘classical,’ felt more like ‘defensive architecture’ to Alice. The sapphire drops at her ears swayed gently as she lifted her chin and stepped inside.
The long table sprawled before her, adorned with damask and porcelain. Guests mingled, glancing at the small cards directing them to their assigned seats. Alice observed several women casting sidelong looks at their placements, their faces a mix of delight and barely concealeddismay. She spotted her own card at once and followed the footman's gesture toward the table's midpoint.
Her fingers brushed the card, her gaze landing on the name beside hers.
Viscount Crewe.
Of course. Crispin had orchestrated this. She could almost hear his satisfied chuckle. A tremor of unease rippled through her, but she steadied herself with sheer will. She refused to let anyone glimpse her discomfort. She had endured worse than sharing a meal with a man whose almost-kiss still lingered on her lips like a brand.
Samuel was already seated when she arrived, rising with practiced courtesy as she approached. His formal attire was impeccable, the black coat smooth and unwrinkled, the white cravat perfectly arranged, every button aligned with precision. Yet there was a tightness in his jaw and a deliberate avoidance of her gaze that hinted his composure was as carefully crafted as her own.
"Lady Alice." His voice held a neutral chill.
"Lord Crewe." She mirrored his tone and settled into her chair with the grace her mother had instilled in her. "How fortunate we should find ourselves neighbors once again."
"Fortune," he replied, a slight edge to his voice, "seems intent on arranging our proximity."
"Or our host is." Alice accepted her napkin from a footman, spreading it across her lap with deliberate care. "Crispin has always fancied himself a patron of unlikely pairings."
Samuel made a sound that could have been agreement or protest; she could not tell which. As they both reached for their water glasses, their elbows brushed, sending an unexpected spark up her arm. They both recoiled as if stung.
"Forgive me," he murmured.
