Now he looked at her in confusion.
“At cards?” she clarified.
He waved one hand in the air, as though to dismiss such a notion. “I never lose.”
Very well. So, what about his grace being informed of little Lady Harriette’s needs had disturbed Lord Blakely to the extent that he would drag her into the rain without waiting for the others?
“Don’t youlikechildren?” She was beginning to feel like an investigator. If she wished to discover the crux of the matter, she’d have to question him extensively.
“It made me wonder about my own.” He spoke in an even tone, not looking at her though. “I try not to think about it, but you had to go and bring up her name today.”
Oh.
She didn’t know what to say. How could one comfort somebody regarding a loss such as that? She imagined there was no comfort. Even time. So, she tightened her grasp of his elbow, brought up her other hand, and squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry.”
The light drips on the umbrella increased in volume as the drizzle redoubled its efforts.
This close, she could feel each breath he took. She ought to be cold, but his warmth spread to her.
“What would you have done? If your father hadn’t… gotten involved?” She’d wondered this on more than one occasion. Would he, a future duke, have acted honorably with a village maid?
The muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed hard. “I don’t know.” His groundout words seemed innocent enough… and then. Ah. He wasn’t only angry with his father but with himself as well. Perhaps even more so.
“You are a duke’s heir,” she said. “How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
“That’s very young.” Emily imagined a lankier, carefree version of him.
He pivoted, dragging her along with him and turned them both down a different path.
“How old was Meggie?” she asked.
“She was a few years older than me,” he answered grudgingly. Emily wondered how many years but decided not to ask. The length of his steps had increased again, as had his pace. “But the child would be nearly ten.”
“Wait. Please.” She could not keep up this pace. She might just as well have been running. His scowl deepened, and Blakely suddenly seemed so very unapproachable. Disengaging her hand from his arm, he stepped out from beneath the umbrella, leaving the handle for her to grasp.
“You’ll want to join the others.”What is the matter with him?
For years now, all of thetonhad viewed him as rebellious and ungrateful, refusing to do the honorable thing by his father. When really, his own conscience could never allow him to go along as though nothing had happened.
And on top of all that, he carried his own burden of guilt. “So, you doubt that you would have done the honorable thing toward her, is that it? Given the chance?”
He stood in the rain, water accumulating in the brim of his hat and spilling off the front. He squinted those unfathomable eyes of his while a flurry of sideways drops blew into his face. When he shook his head, more drops drizzled onto the top capes of his coat. “I don’t know.” His mouth twisted into a grimace and deep lines etched his forehead.
“And you’re tormenting yourself about his? About something you may or may not have done when you were all of seventeen years old?” Emily lifted the umbrella and stepped toward him. Grasping his hand, she pulled him toward a location where they could talk. “Come with me,” she ordered. He wasn’t thinking logically about this.
A few hundred yards to the left, tucked in behind some trees, a quiet gazebo had been erected. Remarkably, he followed her without argument.
Beneath cover, Emily closed the umbrella and set it aside. Before he could move away from her, she reached up, removed his hat, and then shook the water off. She dropped it on the small table and then sat on one of the chairs. “I’ve a pebble in my boot.” Dratted thing. “Sit down, for heaven’s sake. You make me nervous looming over me like that.”
He exhaled a loud sigh and then crouched in front of her. When Emily persisted in attempting to untie her boots, he pushed her hands away. “I’ve never known a woman who struggled so much with the most basic requirements of living.” He deftly untied the boot, loosened the laces, and then tugged the shoe until it came off.
Her fingers itched to touch his head, run her fingers through his tousled hair as he bent over. Meanwhile, he firmly grasped her foot in one hand and shook the offending shoe with the other. “I don’t know how you’ve existed this long without a keeper. Really.” He smoothed the bottom of her foot. She supposed he was making certain no rocks clung to her stocking and then he went about slipping it back on. After a few hearty shoves, he laced it up again.
When the laces were tied, instead of rising to his feet again, he remained on the ground, bent over her foot.
Almost as though her brain had disconnected from her hands, she reached out and brushed at the dark, thick locks. When he didn’t move, she grew bolder, combing her fingers toward the back of his head. He groaned, dipping his head forward, almost into her lap.
