The reasons why did not interest him right now. Instead, her probing insights echoed.You should have told her that you have been mad, drawn into it like a moth to a flame. Hopelessly so. You should have put her in her place by saying she was an ignorant innocent when it came to the madness of all-consuming passion.
As for consequences—hell, he knew about those. Not the petty little ones she spoke of. Real consequences. The kind that made you curse the world, and yourself.
No more of that, he had sworn. No more. And yet—here he was with that stirring in him again, after all these years, with another inappropriate woman. Far different than the last time, but still a mistake. Langford, damn him, had noticed first.The interest, he called it. The curiosity. The fascination. His own essence had slowly seen it too. His attention to detail. His worry for her friend, a person he had never met. Hell, he had climbed a damned slate roof for her.
That kiss they should forget.
Damnation.
It would not be the same. She was not mad herself. She did not want to consume him. She did not want his soul. She saw him as an enemy. And yet—
The sounds from below ceased. She had gone to bed. He realized he had been listening for that, before he rested himself.
* * *
“I should take Davina above and settle her in, then let her rest,” Lady Ingram said to her husband, leaning low and giving him a kiss and an embrace. They both had red hair, so in that kiss they all but merged together. “You can catch up on all the London news at dinner. Come with me, dear, and I’ll show you your chamber.”
Davina had been enjoying her time with her father’s friend and wished she could continue. However, she left Sir Cornelius and followed his wife out of the library. It was only late afternoon, and she really did not need rest. The sight of Edinburgh alone invigorated her, and she had intended to go for a walk now that Brentworth had departed.
He had indeed been pressed to sit a while, as she predicted. Lady Ingram had indeed bent his ear about her reform interests. Sir Cornelius had told some amusing stories about the university. Brentworth had been gracious and friendly.
That was a change. Ever since their dinner that first night, he had been most unfriendly with her. Last night, there had been such frost in his manner, she took her meal in her chamber. She had gone too far in her words, she knew. She doubted a duke thought itappropriatefor others to criticize him.
Not that she had done so. Not really. She just found it strange, almost perverse, that a duke should have less freedom to be true to his nature than she had, or Sir Cornelius. Yet that was how it seemed this duke had been raised and trained, and he believed it a good thing. So next season he would find that appropriate wife who hopefully was neither wild nor empty-headed, and they would have an appropriate marriage and life and bring forth appropriate heirs.
It all sounded very dull to her.
“Here we are.” Lady Ingram opened a door. “I thought you would like to use this chamber instead of the one you had the last time.”
“That was thoughtful.” Sad memories lived in that other chamber, from when the Ingrams had given her safe harbor after her father’s death. This chamber had nice prospects of the crescent on which the house was built, one of many new and identical, tall, pale stone houses lined up side by side in a long arc. Its long windows filled it with light, and the chintz drapes displayed happy festoons of flowers.
Although they had servants, Lady Ingram herself helped Davina unpack. When they were finished, the lady did not leave. Instead, she set her stout body down in a chair and looked up quizzically. “Have you and the duke come to a meeting of the minds about your claim? I ask because you journeyed here with him. Alone, I believe.” One pale orange arched eyebrow accompanied the last sentence. “From the conversation as he left, I think the plan is to do so again when you visit Teyhill.”
“I had planned to take the mail coach from Newcastle, but after the ordeal with Louisa he insisted I travel in his coach so as not to be overtired.” She explained the situation she had found at her friend’s home. “He was above with the coachman the whole way. Nothing inappropriate happened, I assure you.”Except one kiss. “We have no agreement on my claim. Far from it. He has no sympathy at all on that matter.”
“None at all, you say.”
“Yes. None.”
“Well, he has sympathy about something concerning you. It was in how he spoke to you and how he looked at you. In fact, I think it important that you no longer travel with him. Such a man can turn a woman’s head. Even I felt giddy.”
“If he goes to Teyhill, I must too. I suppose I can hire a coach. More likely a wagon, with my purse.”
“Do you not trust him to report what he learns? Is he so dishonorable?”
“I do not trust him to hear what is being said. You know what I mean. We tend to hear what we want to hear, unless someone is so clear and certain that we cannot deny the truth.”
Lady Ingram’s brow furrowed while she thought.
“If you are determined to go, and he intends for you to go with him, I will have my husband’s aunt come as a chaperone.”
“I understand your concern for my reputation and how it will look, but I don’t think—”
“Allow me to be clear and certain, Davina, soyouhear the truth. I do not care how things look. I am saying that Brentworth has a man’s interest in you, no matter what you are claiming about your family and that land.” She stood. “You must not travel alone with him again. I will not hear any arguments on the matter.”
Sir Cornelius’s maiden aunt arrived at the house two mornings later with two valises. One held clothing and the other contained a variety of books. It was the latter she insisted stay in the carriage at her side.
She proved to be the best travel companion, which meant Davina barely knew she was present. The same concentration her brother brought to bear on his experiments, Miss Ingram gave to her reading.
