“This place has a special significance to you, doesn’t it?”
“How do you know that?” She didn’t look at him when she asked. Instead, she examined the label on one interesting-looking crate. She didn’t know the language printed on the side.
“Because you’re angry.”
She glanced at him. “I’m not, actually. I’m sad,” she said, a bit of honesty she hadn’t meant to give him. What was there about this man that compelled her to tell him the truth?
For long moments, they didn’t speak, merely looked at each other. She was the first to glance away, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze or perhaps the compassion in it. She knew, without being told or without understanding truly how she knew it, that if she held out her hand, he would take it and hold it in his large warm grip. If she walked into his arms, he would embrace her, and perhaps bend his head down and lay his cheek against her windblown hair. If she wept, hewould probably withdraw his handkerchief and blot her tears.
She stood and looked around the observatory one last time. She knew she would not come back here again.
“I think the observatory would serve your purposes well,” she said. After all, she had all of Chavensworth. Granted, the estate felt overrun with people occasionally, but if she needed a place uniquely hers, then it was no doubt an emotion that Douglas experienced as well. She pasted a smile on her face. Let her be a gracious hostess of Chavensworth.
“You must let me know what else I can provide to make it a more hospitable place.”
“Your presence, perhaps,” he said, surprising her again.
She felt her brow furrow and deliberately smoothed it.
“I know nothing of making diamonds,” she said.
“But you know a great deal about making conversation, and I find that I enjoy our conversations very much.”
“You do?”
She couldn’t prevent her lips from curving into a smile. And she had no idea how to forestall a sudden spurt of warmth at his words. How very kind he could be.
“I’ll leave you to your work,” she said.
“Must you? I would much rather unpack crates while you talk to me.”
“Are you very certain you don’t simply want another helper?” she asked, smiling at him. “There might be some chicanery behind your nice words.”
“Chicanery? Me?” he said. “No chicanery, I assureyou. Only self-interest. It’s a boring job. I’d much rather have the company of a beautiful woman.”
She laughed. “Now you go too far,” she said. “I almost colluded with you until that remark.”
He frowned at her. “I don’t think you’re soliciting compliments, Sarah, but I find it almost impossible to believe that you don’t know how lovely you are. Are you that modest?”
“On the contrary,” she said. “I know all my assets as well as my liabilities, Douglas. My father insisted upon it. There is nothing you can tell me about myself that has not been pointed out to me on countless occasions.”
She turned to leave, and he reached out one hand and grabbed her arm.
“Do you take everything your father says as the truth, Sarah?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you hold him up as an oracle of wisdom? Do you value what he says about Chavensworth? For that matter, do you value what he says or does about your mother?”
“You, of all people, should know that I don’t.”
“Then why give what he says about you any credence?”
“It was not simply my father, Douglas. I have had two seasons. Two. Two very expensive seasons. I attended hundreds of events; I was fêted as only the daughter of a duke can be. I was introduced to every eligible male in all of the Commonwealth, I believe. I was presented to the Queen.”
“And?”
He could not be that obtuse.
