Imagining Reed holding anyone else with the same tenderness he’d shown her… of him touching another woman intimately, of him kissing anyone but her… was devastating! She swallowed a threatening sob, but a few tears escaped nonetheless.
Closing her eyes, she relived the morning’s events over and over in her mind.
His scent and his taste were distinctly unique and utterly unforgettable. He’d not checked his passion when he’d claimed her mouth with his. He’d plundered.
He’d devoured. And Goldie had wanted all of it.
And more.
She ought to feel tawdry by allowing such intimacies, but instead, she felt… Cherished. If he’d proposed again, at that moment, she would have said yes.
Goldie punched a pillow and curled onto her side.
Even in the bustling crowd at the carnival, she’d felt protected.
And now she had disappointed him.
With all these thoughts tumbling around her head, her lack of sleep from the night before caught up with her and she drifted into a restless sleep.
* * *
“Wake up, my lady.”
Goldie murmured a protest, but the hand on her shoulder was persistent. “Your father wishes to speak with you.”
“Right now?” Goldie rolled over to stare at Nellie, one of the maids from downstairs. “What time is it?”
“Half past eleven.”
Being summoned by her father was never a good thing. Had he heard about her outing earlier this morning? Had word of her visit to the carnival somehow gotten back to him?
She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and pushed herself up to sit.
“Did he say what it was about?” Goldie asked, hating the familiar sick feeling of dread that came with the prospect of one of his talks.
“No, my lady.”
The gown she’d donned for her earlier meeting had become too wrinkled for an appearance with her father. Furthermore, a glance in the mirror showed all the ravages of her bout of tears.
Nellie immediately understood Goldie’s predicament and rushed across to the wardrobe to remove a new gown. “The water in the bin is fresh. Hold a cool cloth to your eyes,” she said.
“Thank you, Nellie.” Goldie unfastened the front of her gown and wrestled out of it. “Where is he?”
“He’s in the morning room, my lady.” Nellie pulled out a muted mint muslin, not one of Goldie’s favorites, but she didn’t have time to find something else.
Ten minutes later, looking perhaps more tired than usual but otherwise perfectly presentable, Goldie rushed downstairs to join her father at the table where he sat reading the Gazette and drinking tea.
Placed at the right of his plate was a sheet of familiar parchment—a letter—covered with her mother’s handwriting.
“You are late.” He barely glanced up as Goldie sat in the chair held out for her by a footman.
“Good morning, Father.” She quickly glanced at the clock on the mantel to confirm that it was, in fact, still morning. A quarter till noon.
She exhaled. So much had already happened today. But if she were to dwell on her meeting with Reed now, she’d tear up again.
“I received a letter.” He frowned.
“Word from Mother?” Goldie asked. “Is she well? Is Nia?”
