Her heart sank. Were they back to that? “I wished only to ask — just how public a life you want me to lead?”
What was she at now? Had his unthinking reference brought on a reminder of her fears? Who in thunder was the fellow? But he must not ask that, not before the servants. Let them at least maintain some semblance of rational behaviour.
Yet Raith found himself unable to help an acid note. “You can hardly call it leading a public life to be toadying to a parcel of neighbours.”
Rosina breathed a little more easily, nodding at the butler who was offering her a serving of artichoke pie to accompany the baked sole nestling on her plate.
“You will not then seek to take me to London?”
“London!” he repeated with loathing. “You may be sure I shall not.”
But his wife was evidently not satisfied. “Raith, do you swear it?”
He found the black eyes upon him in that vulnerable look that had always power to melt him. He fought the sensation, responding with impatience.
“Have a little sense, Rosina. Do you suppose anything would induce me to lay myself open to the sort of vulgar curiosity I would be obliged to endure there? The very sight of me would set tongues wagging. No, you need not be afraid I will drag you into London society.”
Rosina doggedly held his eyes, an unyielding compulsion in the black depths of her own. “But do you swear it?”
Raith could not withstand her. His chest tightened, and he spoke without hesitation. “I give you my word.”
He watched a measure of relief creep over her features, and saw her draw in a slow but unsteady breath, sighing it out. Then she turned away, and began to address her food. Raith followed suit, a stabbing at his gut for the hideous certainty that attacked him. If she was this much afraid, how could he doubt of his suspicions? She would tell him nothing. Was it because she feared to meet the villain, to her undoing?
