Steering clear of the water where a few ladies mingled, their maids in tow, Priscilla opted for one of the wide paths that meandered toward a copse of trees.
Would she feel this alone in Paris? Would time eventually restore her heart?
She had been foolish to give in to her feelings for Emerson. Foolish and weak. And now, she would pay for her decisions. Not that there had been any physical repercussions. Priscilla unconsciously touched her belly. Her courses had arrived earlier that week.
She’d wept that morning.
No, she’d pay with loneliness. Because no matter how many people surrounded her, without Emerson, she’d always be a little lonely.
Fiddlesticks jerked to a halt and then turned in a wild circle.
“Come along, Liddle Fiddle. No birds for you today.” Priscilla gave a gentle tug.
But Fiddlesticks had caught sight of something behind her mistress, and when Priscilla glanced back to see what had caught the pup’s interest, her breath caught.
“Hold tight to that one,” a dear familiar male voice advised. “That water’s deep even near the shore.”
Walk with Me?
Emerson stood before her, freshly shaven, hair slicked back, reminding her of that fateful day back in January. His eyes, however, weren’t as trusting.
Instead, those shimmery depths appeared cautious and… haunted?
She swallowed hard and then forced a half-laugh. “You’ll be glad to know that I’ve since learned to tie a better knot.”
Fiddlesticks jumped, and Emerson stepped closer and lowered himself to his haunches. And when he stroked Fiddlesticks’ long back, her dog’s eyes rolled back in satisfaction. “Hello, there, Fiddlesticks.”
Priscilla was grateful that Emerson would take a moment to distract himself. It allowed her a moment to recover her thoughts. And her breath, if not her equilibrium.
When he looked up and caught her staring, her heart ached. Because dark shadows were etched beneath his eyes, and his skin was unnaturally pale. And he was thinner.
“It was horrid, wasn’t it?”
He gave Fiddlesticks one last rub and then rose again. “Not exactly a holiday.” He shrugged.
He was protecting her from the harsh details of what he’d endured. Why would he do that?
“I didn’t realize… I’m so sorry—”
But he shook his head. “Your brother explained. You were backed into a corner.”
It didn’t excuse what she’d done. “Still, I had a choice.” She’d always had a choice. “Once I realized what kind of man you were….”
“And what kind is that?”
She held his gaze. “Honorable. Loyal. Genuine.”
He dipped his chin but then tilted his head as though questioning her conclusions.
“I’ve had some spare time on my hands recently.” He met her gaze again, and her heart lifted a little to see a hint of laughter. But then he turned somber. “Plenty of time to contemplate my behavior these past few months. I’m not proud of what I’ve done. When I learned Miss Meadowbrook didn’t want to marry me, I should have accepted her decision and searched elsewhere.” His brows furrowed as he scowled. “In my desperation, I lost sight of right and wrong.”
This wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting. And yet, she wouldn’t argue with him.
“I suppose both of us were backed into a corner then.” She studied his hair, which was longer than when she’d last seen him. “But because of me, you’ve had to suffer for it.”
“Not because of you.” Fiddlesticks was growing impatient, and Emerson gestured toward the lawn and then winged an arm. “Walk with me?”
She stepped closer to him, but before she slid her hand into the crook he offered, she paused. Would touching him feel the same?
