Silence followed, but Althea was afraid to descend the few remaining steps for fear they were still there.
“Blast!” the man muttered.
“Can’t you fix it?” one of the maids asked.
“I need to send for a new latch. This and the lock are beyond repair.”
Althea waited a few moments longer before she stepped down and peeked into the corridor. Thankfully they were gone, but she did notice that the door to what she now assumed was Lord Melcombe’s set of rooms was open just a crack. Not that she’d ever cross that threshold, no matter how much desire pressured her to do so.
Chapter Twelve
Prestonpacedwithintheparlor awaiting Miss Claywell to join him for supper. She said that she would. But that was also before he’d kissed her. Then she’d practically run away.
Was she to abandon him tonight?
Just as he was resigned to dine alone, Miss Claywell entered the parlor.
“I apologize for my tardiness. I will not let it happen again. I realize how important punctuality is to you.”
He blinked at her. Any warmth they’d shared earlier was gone. She was all that was proper and respectable, which he’d expect out of a governess, but not Miss Claywell. Not that Miss Claywell wasn’t a respectable miss, but she’d been far warmer and friendlier…before he’d kissed her in the garden.
“No need to apologize, Miss Claywell,” he finally said. “Shall we go into the dining room?”
He stepped to offer his arm, but she turned too quickly to take it and glided ahead of him before taking her place at the table.
She was going to keep him at a distance and Preston would not have it. That first kiss was near perfection, her lips as soft as a rose petal, and she’d kissed him back. He could not allow her to retreat from him again.
If she’d objected, wouldn’t she have slapped him, or asked him never to kiss her again?
She’d only claimed that it wasn’t right.
He had taken that to mean her position within his household and understood her concern, but he needed to make her understand that his intentions were more, but how did he go about doing so?
He should tell her.
His stomach churned at the very idea. To admit what he wanted, meant that he’d have to be honest about his marriage proposal. Then he’d have to admit that he’d known from the beginning that she’d run away and the reason why. Once he confessed all, no doubt she’d feel betrayed, and then there was nothing he’d be able to say or do to win her back.
Bloody hell! He’d made a mess of things.
After the dishes had been set before him, Preston nodded to the footman to leave them alone.
“Is all well, Miss Claywell?”
“Yes. Thank you for asking,” she answered.
Silence hung while he tried to think of something to say. Should he address what had occurred in the garden? “Do I owe you an apology?”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for, Lord Melcombe.”
Her answer was short and gave him no indication that she wished to engage in further conversation.
Blast!
Perhaps he should offer a compliment. That may soften her toward him. Preston just as quickly discarded the idea. If a kiss caused her to withdraw, flattery might lead her to give notice.
Bloody hell! Why was it so difficult to court a woman?
“Excuse me, Lord Melcombe, but the girls have returned and there’s been an injury,” Mrs. Wilson interrupted.
