“I’m not a collector, and I never shall be, but I’m admittedly a student of theartof collecting. I personally resist the idea of being tied to objects. I suppose it’s because I’ve seen how so much upheaval can be caused when one places all their energy in the amassing of things. Eventually those things become a weight. A burden. Consider Mrs.Milton. Consider Wainbridge. Think of all the turmoil that ultimately could have been avoided.”
His words sobered her, and yet the familiarity in them soothed her. She found herself, for the first time the entire day, feeling comfortable, relaxed. Like the charade she’d been endeavoring to play could, for the moment, cease and her true identity could be released.
Over his broad shoulder Olivia spied Miss Stanley through the open doors. The beauty appeared to be searching for someone.
No doubt she was searching for Mr.Avery.
It could not be ignored. “I believe someone might be looking for you.”
“Hmm?” He raised a dark brow and turned to follow her gaze, peering over his shoulder. He sighed and raked his fingers through his dark hair.
Olivia waited to speak until the woman was no longer visible through the door. “I feel for her.”
“You do?”
“Of course. How awful it would be to think your entire future rested on your ability to marry a certain man.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could retract them. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“You should say whatever you like, MissBrannon,” he encouraged. “And if you’ll indulge me, what abilities do you think a woman should rest her future on?”
She blinked at him. Never had she been asked to share her thoughts on such a personal matter. “It depends on the woman, I suppose.”
“And you? What do you plan for the future?”
Heat crept up her neck. Their conversation had taken a decidedly personal turn, but she would not shy away from it. How lovely it felt to have real discussions on topics that mattered. “I’m well aware that I’m more fortunate than many women. I have a skill. But whether or not I can make a living with it remains to be seen.”
“Then we are in the exact same situation. We are both counting on our skills.”
She laughed at the ridiculous comparison.
“But I am curious,” he continued. “You spoke of making a living. Don’t you think it would be easier if you could share the burden with someone?”
“I’ve yet to find someone I could trust,” she answered matter-of-factly.
He stepped closer, and his scent of sandalwood melded with the honeysuckle and fresh rain, intoxicating and exciting. “Don’t forget, MissBrannon. You accepted my apology. Doesn’t that mean you trust me?”
A grin toyed with her lips. “I’m not sure. Does it?”
“I can tell you that I am trustworthy, but what matters is whether or not I can prove it.”
Suddenly, they were no longer talking about collections or their business. She looked up into his eyes, their gazes locked, and she was unable to look away.
Could he be trusted as he said?
Could he be trusted... with her thoughts? Her confidence? Her heart?
He moved even closer. He was now within arm’s reach.
The gathering faded into the background—the voices, the music. It seemed they were the only two people present.
Was he drawn to her in the same manner?
The nearby torchlight flashed on his features that were so attractive to her—his fine, straight nose. His strong jaw. His light green eyes.
He lowered his voice, his tone undeniably intimate. “Another confession.”
“My, my.” She smiled. “We really must do something about you and your confessions.”
“I came out here specifically to find you, hoping you would consent to dance. With me.” He offered her his arm. “Will you?”
