Mr. Steele grabbed her reins. “Do you regret helping me?”
The question annoyed her. Her horse had stopped at the touch of his hand. An urge to lash out at him built inside her, but in the end, the truth won out. “No. I believe you needed to be warned.” Her gaze dropped to the worn path through the late summer foliage ahead of them. “I told you, I wanted to help.”
He released his hold. “You have. You saved me from an ugly scene last night.”
Gwendolyn mentally debated that. “You would have managed. My warning was actually unnecessary.”
“But the attempt was not wrong,” he vowed to her.
“Except, it cost me my pride.”
He rocked back in his saddle at her statement. She could feel him study her, and suddenly, she was tired of the game. He did not feel what she felt. Even if he did, he denied it. “We should move on,” she said, and would have kicked the gray forward, but then he spoke.
“I don’t... know another way than being... alone.”
“Or is it just safer?” Gwendolyn answered. If she’d slapped him, he could not have looked more stunned. “I understand, Beckett.” Using his Christian name felt right. “I was orphaned. I grasp that some fears start early in life—”
“It isn’t fear—”
“Then what else would you call it? You don’ttrust. Fine. You want to be alone. Very well. A woman rejected your suit for a man who may have a title, but aboringcharacter.” Gwendolyn couldn’t imagine tossing aside a young Mr. Steele for someone so fond of brandy and his own conceit like Lord Rabron. It made her question Violet’s intelligence.
But she didn’t say this. Her focus was on Beckett. “It is hard to trust, butworth it.” She let the last two words hang in the air before saying briskly, “Now, where is this cottage?” As far as she was concerned, the subject was closed. She lifted her reins, ready to ride.
He didn’t move. His jaw tightened. He appeared as if he was trying to form words and questioning their wisdom.
“If you are going to tell me,” she warned him, “that you are denying any feelings for me because you aren’t worthy of me, then you’d best keep quiet.”
“But it is true, Gwendolyn,” he snapped back. “You can do far better.”
She released a heavy sigh. “Now you are the one who is being boring. Don’t tell me what I think, what I feel, or what I want. I have no pretense to nobility. I’m a half-sister. My mother was the daughter of a British civil servant. I have no fortune. But I have a family who loves me and whom I love dearly in return. That makes me vastly wealthier than anyone back at Colemore. So mark my words. If I turn up at breakfast this morning and my reputation has been compromised, then you will have to step up to the mark, Mr. Steele. I won’t let myfamily suffer because you wish to sulk through life alone.”
For the briefest of moments, Mr. Steele—Beckett—appeared speechless. And then he said, “Challenge accepted, Miss Lanscarr. I will make an honest woman of you.”
She believed he was jesting, but she also knew he was an honorable man. The tension knotting her shoulders over what would become of her when the rumors started eased. “That is not a strong declaration,” Gwendolyn noted. “But you didn’t argue with me. I consider that a win.”
“I will always protect you, Gwendolyn. When I asked you for my favor, I promised no harm would come to you. I meant those words.”
She looked away from him. This was what she wanted—she’d dreamed of a promise of any sort, actually.
But it was nothowshe wanted it.
She loved him. Was it too much to wish he loved her, too?
Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back. Self-pity was a shameful emotion. She gathered her reins. “Where is this cottage?” Had he noticed her reaction? Possibly.
However, he did not mention her lapse of spirit, and for that, she was grateful. Instead, he pushed his horse ahead. They rode through the forest with only the sounds of their horses and the morning bird calls. A squirrel scrambled down a tree, saw the riders, and skittered back up to safety. He sat out on a limb and chattered warning of their invasion to everyone else. She and Beckett didn’t speak. Their silence was likea spell around them. It was actually companionable.
Beckett straightened. “The cottage,” he said. “We found it.”
And there through the trees she caught a glimpse of silver water, a small clearing, and the stone facade of a building.
Chapter Thirteen
Looking at the cottage through the trees, an unexpected foreboding fell over Beck. He had an impulse to turn back.
But Gwendolyn was already making her way toward the cottage. She reached the clearing and looked back at him with a smile. “We found it,” she said happily. And then she tilted her head as if listening. “Do you hear singing?”
“I don’t.” He was surprised how hoarse his voice was.
