He was almost convinced that Cordelia didn’t care, but she was too formal. Too cold and in complete contrast to what she’d been since they first met only a few days ago.
A few days! He’d known her such a short time. Was this the true Cordelia and had the other been false?
No. There was a hint of pain in her cornflower blue eyes, and she was trying to pretend that what they’d shared meant nothing at all.
“I wish to explain what you may have seen yesterday.”
“You owe me no explanation, Lord Bentford.”
“The kiss. She kissed me. I did not kiss her.”
“It matters not who kissed whom,” Cordelia said. “You are free to pursue whomever you wish. It is not as if we are courting.”
No, they weren’t.
He never got a chance to do so.
“There was only one woman that I wished to kiss yesterday, and that was you,” he confessed.
“Yet, you didn’t,” Cornelia reminded him.
“Because it wouldn’t be right, nor fair to you.”
Cordelia expectedhim to attempt to make excuses for his behavior, as rakes and rogues often do, but she didn’t understand why he would say it would be unfair to her. “I don’t understand.”
“I am not free,” he finally said.
Why would he waltz with her if he was already attached to someone?
She returned to her belief that he was, indeed, a rogue of the first order.
That dance was considered risqué and improper by many matrons and to do so down a public road was skating far too close to the line that separated propriety from ruination.
Yet she was at fault as well, for she had allowed him to do so. But she thought he was free.
“You are betrothed?” Cordelia finally asked. She needed to know for certain.
Except, why did he worry about his mother being a matchmaker…unless Miss Perkins.
Bentford chuckled. “I can assure you that I am not.”
He was making no sense. “It can’t be both. Either you are free, or you are betrothed.”
Bentford blew out a sigh then turned to face her, taking her hands in his.
His shoulders dropped as if they carried the weight of the world.
“It’s always been expected that I would one day marry a witch.”
This came as a surprise, though perhaps it shouldn’t have.
“It’s been something that I’ve been avoiding for years.” He followed the words with a sad, dry chuckle, and her heart began to soften, though she wouldn’t allow it to do so.
“Witches need to be protected. When one marries, it should be with someone who is not frightened of them, or someone from whom they do not need to hide their ability. Norcott and Drakos men are never witches, but our mothers and sisters are, so for generations, we’ve always married a witch to offer that protection.”
“I understand.” And she did. She’d heard the stories of witchfinders when she was a child and it wasn’t all that long ago, only three years, that Ianthe had lost her parents in the same manner. It was difficult enough to marry, but much more so if one needed to hide a part of themselves from their spouse. “I assume Miss Perkins is a witch.”
“I cannot tell you that.”
