“How did you sleep at the inn?”
Cain’s gaze snapped back to hers, and he wondered if she had read his mind, but when she merely glanced at him with a friendly curiosity, he relaxed slightly. “Very well,” he lied. “Mrs. Decker makes sure I want for nothing.” This time he spoke the truth.
“I imagine not.” Her lips twitched as she took another sip of her tea. “She is very awed of you, I think.”
“Whereas you’re not?”
This time, the cup was halfway to her mouth. Blast. Cain hadn’t meant to speak so boldly, when he’d just convinced himself he wasn’t going to engage in such empty flirtation, but now that the words were spoken, it wasn’t as if he could pretend they weren’t floating in the air between them.
She seemed to weigh her next statement carefully. “I admit that it is quite intriguing to imagine the sort of life you must have led, but as far as being impressed by a mere title—” She shrugged. “I’m afraid not.”
He laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. From the moment we met I could tell you weren’t the sort of female to be swayed by flowery prose.”
“Oh, don’t mistake me,” she countered. “I enjoy a good book of poetry from time to time, but I daresay I wouldn’t believe it if there was an ode to my ‘glorious locks.’” She rolled her eyes without humor.
He tilted his head to the side, thinking there was something else hidden in her admission. “Why not?”
“Pardon?”
He leaned back, throwing an arm against the back of the settee. While there was still plenty of distance between them, he could tell the action made her wary. “What makes you believe that there couldn’t be a verse written about you? Personally, I beg to differ.” He cleared his throat and adopted his best theatrical impression. “‘Oh, lady, so fair and true. Won’t you e’er be my true love? With hair as golden as the sun and eyes that shine with the glory of sapphire blue, there is no other I would choose to be my Dove.’ ”
The laughter that followed was worth his efforts. She even set aside her cup and clapped lightly. “Bravo! Really, my lord, you might have a career on the stage. Or at the very least, surely you could pick up a pen.”
He gave a mock wince, although he was grinning. “If my father were still alive, he would likely take my name in vain if I did either. He wasn’t a fan of the arts, but when it came to shooting grouse or fox hunting, he was determined not to return to the manor without a sack full of his spoils.”
“How old were you when you lost your father?”
He had to think. “I suppose it’s been about twelve years or more now. I had just turned eighteen.”
Her expression was compassionate. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s not as if we were particularly close. Not like you and your father seem to be at least. When you are groomed to be a viscount since you are born, expectations are more foreseen than affection.”
“It must have been dreadfully lonely for you,” she said quietly.
Cain thought of the first time he’d lain with a woman. It had been one of the kitchen maids when he’d been fifteen. After that, he made it a point to charm every woman he could find, just because he knew he could do so. “I found ways to pass the time,” he said evenly. “The question is, if I get lonely in Meriden, will you be the one to comfort me, Miss Meriwether?”
Dove had been having a civil conversation with the viscount until that point. In truth, she was quite enjoying his company, but now, she had to become the cool hostess once again. “I fear you shall have to turn your attentions elsewhere in that regard, Lord Markel.”
She set aside her tea and made to rise, but he grabbed her wrist. Not enough to hurt, but enough to give her pause. “Please, don’t go. I’m sorry I seem to keep overstepping myself. I fear old habits can be difficult to break.”
He appeared so earnest that she couldn’t help but relent. “Rest assured there’s no harm done, my lord. But I do need to get some things completed this afternoon.”
“Of course.” He released her and got to his feet. “Thank you for the kind companionship, Miss Meriwether.”
He started to depart and she found herself saying, “Will you call again tomorrow?”
He offered her that grin that weakened her knees. “Nothing could keep me away.” He gave her a scandalous wink and then he was gone.
She resisted the urge to put her hand against her heart and slump back against the settee. Instead, she gathered up the tea items and headed back for the kitchen. As she laid the tray on the counter, she noticed that the pitcher she had been trying to reach was sitting innocently to one side.
For some unknown reason, tears stung her eyes. Foolish, because why she might be shedding any sort of tears over such a mundane object was ridiculous in the extreme, and yet, a single drop coursed down her cheek all the same.
Dove reached out and ran a finger down the handle of the pitcher, as if by doing so, she could connect with the viscount once more. She knew it was a dangerous, carnal path that she was walking toward, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. For years she’d prayed for a man to come along that would love her as much as he loved God, and someone who wouldn’t make her choose between his devotion and caring for her father. She couldn’t leave him when he had no other family, nor would she want to.
And yet…
Lord Markel was everything that she had always avoided, the aristocratic libertine who only thought of marriage as a last resort, someone who would stray once they were wed and leave her to rot in some abandoned estate somewhere. She had met one man like that, and it hadn’t ended well. In truth, he had quite broken her heart three years ago when she had been eighteen. He, too, had ventured through Meriden before Telford’s Road had bypassed their village. He had been charming and handsome, everything that the viscount was, but after she gave in to him, he left without a second glance.
