The door clicked closed behind her, and he spun around. His raised brows and faint smile revealed that he’d not expected to see her already—if at all.
Why would he? Not twelve hours before, she’d insisted that she didn’t want to marry him.
Dash it all, joining him this morning was another mistake on her part. She shouldn’t have come out so quickly—not alone anyhow. She ought to have forced him to wait at least an hour—possibly two.
“I trust that you slept well?” His smile showed in his eyes. He was pleased that she’d come, and it was impossible not to feel flattered.
But it wasn’t real. It meant nothing.
Because he is courting Allison.
“Well enough, thank you.” Priscilla did her very best to convey that subtle bored sound Allison managed so well.
His gaze shifted to stare past her shoulder. “And Miss Fortune?”
“Is sleeping like the dead.” Priscilla tipped her head back, her gaze curious to take in the various shades painting the morning sky. Chloe would have appreciated the walk as well, but if she had come along, Priscilla would have had to watch her every word, expression, and glance.
Just for this morning, she needed to be herself.
She needed to be Priscilla Fellowes—a woman who’d been raised to love the outdoors and the sea—a young woman with nothing to hide.
Herself.
So why hadn’t she simply waited for him to leave and go walking alone?
“Shall we, then?” Rather than take her arm, he gestured for Priscilla to walk beside him in the direction of the cliffs. The various clusters of trees barely cast shadows as only half the morning sun showed on the horizon. The silence of dawn wrapped around them like a golden cloud.
And as though by mutual consent, aside from the gravel crunching beneath their boots and the wind whistling along the landscape, they walked together quietly, occasionally casting surreptitious glances at one another.
Was he holding his peace because he had nothing to say, or did he, too, enjoy listening to the distant sounds of the crashing surf?
Despite the majestic nature surrounding her, Priscilla found it difficult to appreciate all of it.
Because of him. Because she was so acutely aware of the man walking beside her, which she should not be.
None of this was fair.
As they walked, the temptation to blurt out the truth was so strong she nearly gave into it. There was no certainty that the world would end if she decided to reveal everything and then beg him to release Allison from the betrothal. Instead, she perceived that he was the sort of person who would be understanding of her predicament and do what he could to come to a resolution that worked for all.
But what if she was wrong?
In truth, she barely knew Lord Hardwood. He had his own agenda, and his insistence that Allison concede to a marriage she opposed shouldn’t give her reason to trust him with the truth.
Rather the opposite.
Furthermore, in abandoning this scheme, Priscilla would be betraying Miss Primm and everyone else who’d worked hard to set this plan into motion. Her failure could result in the closure of the school altogether.
“Management of the Domestic Sciences.” His words cut into her tumultuous thoughts. “Which do you favor? The handling of fabrics? Baking? Cooking? Or the organizational aspect?”
It was her turn to give him a startled look. As she did so, she brushed her arm casually along his, sending tingling down her spine.
Had he felt that too?
“Did you know what it was all along?” she asked. She’d been certain that Lord Hardwood had never even heard of her favorite subject. “Or did you rush to look it up?”
“I confess that my understanding is but a recent addition to my great intellect,” he grinned. “But I am now at least partially enlightened.”
He was making fun of himself. To witness even a hint of self-recrimination in a lord was oddly…
