“I don’t know,” she finally said. “I hardly know what to think anymore! I’m not really afraid of your cousin, or your uncle, or even…” She shook her head, trailing off. “I’m rather afraid of myself, of my own thoughts… Am I paranoid?” She glanced up, confusion raw in her gaze.
“And me?” He could see the crack in the trust she’d professed to have for him just a few weeks before.
“Are you even real? I mean, of course I know that. Of course you are real. You are live flesh and blood, here before me. But am I making more of this than I ought? Oh, how fickle and foolish I must seem! But these feelings… Are they real? Are they like vapor? Will they disappear when the sun comes out?”
He twirled her expertly and then pulled her close again. She was not fickle or foolish. Her very concerns proved this to him. He’d known she was experiencing such qualms.
He steered them around another couple before answering.
“I’ve never been compelled to obstruct or hinder anything my uncle has ever attempted to do. I’ve disagreed with him. I’ve doubted him. But I’ve never before interfered in either of my cousin’s lives…” He twirled her again. “…but—”
“But?” she prompted.
“—I’ve never wanted a woman as badly as I want you.” Was it fair of him to tell her this?
“But am I real?” He would address all of her concerns. “I am here. I have a strategy, and I intend for it to go as planned. Are these feelings real?
“Real enough to keep me awake, several nights in a row. Real enough to cause me to think of nothing but you, even when other women are readily available. Real enough to be painful at times. Are your feelings like vapor?
“If the sun comes out, what will become of them? Will they dissolve into nothing but a fine mist on millions of blades of grass? And what if the sun disappears? Will they turn to ice?”
At his words, she chuckled.
“Are you mocking my attempt at poetry, Sophia?” A few wisps of her hair tickled him when he bent down to speak near her ear.
She glanced at him out of the side of her eyes. “I’m mocking myself…” She spoke so softly that he almost missed her words. But she had smiled. “…for doubting something more real than anything I’ve ever known.”
He twirled her again, pleased that she’d smiled for him. A real smile, too, not that halfhearted one with the distant look in her eyes.
He pulled her close, perhaps closer than he ought. “Ah, Sophia,” he whispered. “Trust me?”
* * *
She should tell him.No matter they were on a crowded dance floor.
It was not that she did not trust him, but she knew.
His plan was doomed to fail.
How would he feel about her then? Knowing she was tarnished? He’d said his feelings for her kept him up at night. But how much of that was based on the image he’d created in his mind? For she was not so innocent as everyone thought. And when he discovered…
“‘Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them,’ my captain.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Are you quoting Lord Byron to me?” But his eyes creased as he smiled. This was how she would remember him. Long after he’d left her life in search of something attainable. “And very cryptically. I’m not sure I delight in your answer.”
“I trust you.” She held his gaze unwavering. “And I adore your poetry.” This drew his laughter again. She would lock this moment away, in the safest part of her heart. She would pull it out and cherish it as she grew into an old, forgotten woman.
For that was how she was beginning to picture herself as Lord Harold’s bride.
The Talk
In the early hours of the morning, just as Sophia climbed into bed, she was startled by a light tapping at the door. “It’s Mama, Sophia. Let me in, dear.”
After hopping up, she unlatched the lock and opened the door wide for her mother to enter. Apparently, her mama intended to discuss the marriage bed with her after all.
Except that there would be no marriage bed for this bride. Sophia was quite certain of that. Thank heavens, the days were gone when the lady’s maid presented a stained sheet to the family, or God forbid, when the family looked on while it was performed.
She was merely obliged to undergo this short, informal discussion that her mama wished to have with her tonight. “It’s late, Mama. Is this really necessary?”
