Or undressed, rather.
He raised one hand, rubbing it down his bare chest—and she realized he wasn’t at ease.
And yet she knew he wasn’t embarrassed about being half naked. He was embarrassed about the reason for it—whatever it was that sent him out here half naked.
“I was… concerned.”
Concerned? Amelia latched onto the word. She willed him to say more—to admit he had feelings behind that concern.For her. She wanted to hear that it wasn’t because of her father, or Crossings, or whoever was behind all this.
Instead of explaining, he tilted his head. “I think we could both use a good cup of coffee, don’t you?”
“I prefer tea.” She sounded more than a little churlish.
“I hate tea,” he said. “But I’m sure cook will provide both.”
She still didn’t move.
He beckoned with one hand. “Come on. Toast and sausage is being cooked as we speak. And you don’t eat nearly enough.”
It was another sort of truce.
Amelia reached out and his hand swallowed hers. When he threaded their fingers together, her frustration melted like the sugar she added to her tea.
And then, of course, he waited for her to turn toward the house before moving—letting her lead.
Trying to ignore the pleasant buzzing feeling that was shooting up from where their hands joined, Amelia stared at the ground.
When the silence became too unnerving, she resorted to simple, pleasant conversation. “It’s beautiful out here. I love when the sky is pink like this.”
Mr. Beckworth tilted his head back as though to confirm her description.
“Is it?”
“Absolutely.”
Glancing around, he grunted. “I never thought of it like that. But it is, I suppose. Just a hint.”
His thumb softly stroked the back of her hand. Was he doing it intentionally?
“I like it—the pink.” Her voice came out low and breathy. She kept her eyes firmly focused on the ground. “Don’t the rocks hurt your feet?”
He brought them to a halt and lifted one up, brushing at the bottom. But then quickly continued on.
“It’s not as bad as going without shoes in the city.”
Amelia realized that was all he would say about it, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to know more. If he had gone without something as simple as shoes regularly enough for him to speak of it so casually, what else had he been forced to live without? She already knew he’d not had consistent access to shelter. Had he gone hungry often? Who had cared for him whenever he’d fallen ill—for surely he must have, living in those sorts of conditions. How did a child survive on their own?
Amelia couldn’t help but notice that, as a man of means now, he typically wore sturdy boots.
She squeezed his hand, and after a moment, he squeezed back.
They lapsed into another silence, and she sensed he had more that he needed to say. His tension vibrated beside her.
“I was afraid for you.” His words hung in the air. “When I saw you outside.” Amelia’s entire body thrummed. From him, this felt like a grand admission.
She turned so she could watch his expression. “You aren’t starting to care for me, are you, Mr. Beckworth?” Flirting was a skill every debutante practiced, and Amelia had considered herself rather good at it. But she’d only ever flirted because it was expected.
On this particular morning,with this particular man, it came naturally.
