“Oh, Roarke,” she said as she moved toward him without a care to what the others saw when she did. She caught his hand. “Does it hurt terribly?”
He gave a half-smile that told the story before he said, “I might normally lie and tell you no, but I won’t ever lie to you again. So yes, it hurts. But it’s manageable.”
She sucked in a breath at that casual promise never to lie again. It hung between them, heavy and sweet and she found herself praying it could be true.
“You really did almost die protecting her,” Bernadette breathed as she stepped a little closer, staring at his injuries. “Thank you, Mr. Desmond.”
Valaria moved forward now and gave him the slightest of smiles. But Flora knew how much that meant. “We should go in for supper and Mr. Desmond can sit and rest.”
She took Callum’s arm and the couple led them through the door to the adjoining dining room. Bernadette smiled at Flora and then followed, leaving her alone, albeit briefly, with Roarke.
“May I take you?” he asked.
Once again her breath caught. She knew he was talking about escorting her into supper, but those weren’t the images her errant mind created. She was breathless as she said, “Yes. Please. Certainly. Yes.”
He chuckled a little at her flustered response, but then held out his elbow and together they stepped into the next room. Valaria had indicated Flora and Roarke be seated next to each other, with Roarke between her and Callum at the head of the table, Valaria across from him and Bernadette on her other side. Flora almost laughed at the absurdity that Roarke was now surrounded by her friends. But if he felt the circle tightening around him, he said nothing and simply helped her to her place and settled, slowly, into his own.
Supper began, dishes were brought, and to Flora’s relief, the night didn’t turn into an interrogation of Roarke. They talked of normal subjects: plays and books, the roads and the state of the government. It was as if her friends had decided to accept this man she cared for back into their circle for a while. And while she knew they were judging him, watching him, they weren’t trying to catch him in some trap.
It was Bernadette who broached the first difficult subject, as dessert was brought out and placed before them: a small selection of biscuits with sweet wine to dip them into. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother’s condition, Mr. Desmond.”
Flora watched Roarke’s response. His mouth tightened and he set a biscuit back on the small plate before him. He looked up at Bernadette. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Everyone had reverted back to formality, which Flora knew was to be expected, but she missed the easiness between them, especially with this subject.
“How long has she been ill?” Bernadette pressed.
“A few years, though her confusion has progressed a great deal in the last six months,” he said.
Flora could feel him forcing himself to be open, to give vulnerability rather than turtle up and protect himself. For her? Was it possible this was all part of his promise of honesty? She couldn’t help but reach out and cover his hand with hers.
“That must be difficult,” she said softly.
He nodded. “Yes. I hate to see her in this state. I hate knowing that I’m at a disadvantage in how to help her. It’s not an excuse for the mistakes I’ve made, but it is partly my reason.” His gaze went distant. “I hope that Theo…Lightmorrow…will be able to help her. That she’ll respond well and not with fear because he’s a stranger.”
“He will,” Bernadette said. “He has a vast capacity for kindness, gentleness, despite his reputation. And before he left, we talked together about strategies for how to approach her. I assure you he will be as soothing as you might wish.”
Flora tilted her head because Bernadette’s emotions were as plain in that moment as she feared her own must be. Her feelings for Theo were slashed across her face, though she schooled them immediately.
“I appreciate that, Your Grace,” Roarke said. “It takes a great deal of weight from my shoulders knowing that he will be. And that you are part of that. Thank you.”
Bernadette looked at him a long moment and then said, “I thought we agreed that you would call me Bernadette, Roarke.”
Flora could have sobbed at that renewed acceptance and understanding from her sweet friend. And from Roarke’s expression, it was clear he felt the importance of that offer to use her given name. “Bernadette,” he said softly.
Valaria and Callum had been watching the exchange. And though Valaria didn’t offer the same grace—not yet—Flora could see that this all had moved her. Her tone was gentle as she said, “Why don’t we retire to the parlor and have port together? We can talk or play a game if you’re up for it, Mr. Desmond.”
“I’d like to try,” Roarke said with a quick glance at Flora. “Though I think I might need some air first. Just to clear my head a little.”
The other murmured their understanding and they began to depart to the salon where they would do their after-supper activities. Flora should have followed them, but instead she moved toward Roarke. “May I join you?”
He swallowed. She saw his Adam’s apple work with the motion, saw his gaze flit over her, hot and a little possessive. She wanted to lean into that, into him, but managed to remain just where she was, as unaffected as she could pretend to be.
“Yes,” he said. “Why don’t you lead the way?”
She did so, taking him to the back of the estate, past the parlor where they could hear the others softly talking, probably about them, truth be told. They went through a small music room and out onto the large veranda that encircled the entire back of the house.
It was cold outside, and Flora shivered a little as the door closed behind them. She hadn’t thought to fetch a wrap, even though it was autumn. She’d been too caught up in him.
