“That would require significant restraint.”
“I shall attempt heroism, then,” he replied. “I own that I was high handed and perhaps a bit set in my ways. But it’s cost us something we cannot get back… time. And I dislike the notion of wasting more.”
She said nothing to that, but he heard her quickly indrawn breath. Saw the tension in her. And he knew, whatever she might say, that his words had left a mark upon her. They had penetrated the shell of armor she had wrapped about herself. So he stopped then, leaving it alone, letting her ruminate.
The park was already animated with the rituals of the Season—carriages gliding past in polished procession, riders parading their mounts, ambitious mothers watching from beneath parasols as though every turn of a wheel might alter the future of their daughters. Adrian guided the horses away from the thickest of it, turning instead down a quieter lane where the trees arched overhead and the noise receded. The filtered light gave the place an almost dream like quality, as though it belonged to a different world altogether.
Eleanor noticed the change at once. “You are avoiding the promenade.”
“I have had my fill of spectators,” he said. “Have you not?”
She did not answer immediately. “I have grown accustomed to them.”
“That does not mean you enjoy them,” he countered.
With one eyebrow lifted in challenge, she asked, “And since when have you made it your business to determine what I enjoy?”
He held the reins a little tighter than strictly necessary. “Since you accused me of not noticing you at all. You are quite incorrect on that score… I have noticed. I have noticed every single day and made myself pretend blindness to it--to you.”
That silenced her, and he felt a strange mixture of guilt and grim satisfaction at having finally forced the truth into the open. They had spoken around this for too long. He had hidden behind familiarity and let her do the work of maintaining ease between them while he took what he wanted—her steadiness, her wit, her company—without ever offering her anything that might have required courage.
He slowed the phaeton near a stand of trees and drew the horses to a stop, setting the brake. “Walk with me,” he said, and before she could object, he was down, offering his hand.
She regarded him as though she might refuse on principle alone. But then she placed her gloved fingers in his palm and allowed him to help her down. Once on the ground, she withdrew her hand quickly, as if she did not wish him to think the small contact meant more than it did.
They began walking along the narrow path, their pace unhurried. For several moments neither spoke. They had walked together a hundred times before, in gardens and parks and long corridors, in easy companionship. Yet now the silence between them was weighted, full of things unsaid.
“You have been very quiet since yesterday,” she said at last. “I should have thought you would relish having won your ridiculous challenge.”
“I do not relish it,” he replied.
“No?” Her tone suggested she did not quite believe him.
“No,” he repeated, more firmly. “I have been thinking about what you said.”
“I say a great many things.”
“You accused me of treating you with disregard,” he said.
She slowed, her gaze fixed ahead. He could see the set of her shoulders, the way she held herself a fraction more rigidly.
“And you think you have not?” she asked, though her voice had softened despite herself.
“I see you as not as a furnishings or ornamentation or merely something in the background. I see you, Eleanor,” he answered. “Even when it has sometimes been painful to do so. What you interpreted as disregard was my attempt to hide my true feelings…because pressing them was infinitely more dangerous.”
Her lips parted as though she meant to retort, but before she could, her foot slipped slightly on the uneven ground where the earth dipped beneath the shade. It was no dramatic stumble—merely a misstep—but Adrian reacted without thought. His arm came around her waist, drawing her firmly against him before she could pitch forward.
Her hand caught at his coat, bracing herself against him. For a suspended instant they remained thus, too close and too still, as though the world had narrowed to the space between their breaths. Other than the odd dance here and there, it was the closest he had ever been to her physically. And his reaction to that was rather shocking in its intensity.
“I am a graceless ninny,” she said with embarrassment. And while she laughed a bit at herself, she did not move away, allowing the closeness to linger.
He became acutely aware of the warmth of her through the fabric of her gown, of the rapid cadence of her breathing. He could have stepped back. He ought to have stepped back. Instead, he found himself reluctant to relinquish her.
“Have you ever been kissed?” he asked quietly.
Her eyes widened. “You are insufferable.”
“Answer me.”
