“Of course it matters, Kathryn.” He looked out the window again. “Why do you think I spend so much time away from here? I can’t stand to be this close to you and not—” He took a deep breath. “I thought that this time, things might be different. But you’re still set on leaving and I don’t want to play the fool anymore.”
“The fool?” I shook my head. “What do you mean?”
He finally looked at me. “You really can’t see it, can you?”
I wanted desperately to understand what he meant. Austen was my friend. Had always been my friend.
Had he wanted more?
“I’ll call for my carriage,” he growled as he walked past me to the door. “Meet me downstairs.”
I blinked several times—trying to process his shifting moods and what he was trying to tell me. “You’ll take me to Miller’s Court?”
“Against my better judgment.”
And then he was gone.
I sat next to Austen twenty minutes later in his carriage. I’d gone home to grab my bonnet and reticule, and then I’d met him outside when the carriage had been pulled around to the front of his townhouse.
The coachman had helped me into the small conveyance and then Austen had stepped inside, without saying a word to me. He wore a top hat and a pair of gloves, but his clothing was worn and outdated as he sat stiff beside me.
I was still trying to understand what had happened between us. I’d never suspected that he wanted more from me, especially because he had spent the past fourteen years avoiding me. Was that what he’d meant? That his feelings ran deeper than friendship?
It was ridiculous to even think about. We were friends and nothing more.
“I hate when you stare at me,” he said as he looked out the window.
“How do you know I’m staring at you?” I asked as the carriage passed Green Park and took a left onto Victoria Street.
“I can feel it.”
“I’m trying to understand what you meant—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
The truth was that I didn’t really want to talk about it, either. I’d never thought of Austen as anything other than a friend. It would be better to return to safer topics. “Where have you been for the past year?”
“Italy.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Are you going to drill me with questions the whole way?”
“If that’s what it takes to find the answer.”
This was safer. The bantering side of our relationship.
I played with the fastener of my reticule, clasping and unclasping it. “I have been waiting for a long time to have your undivided attention.”
He put his hand on mine to stop me from fidgeting and met my gaze. “If you stop this infernal clicking noise, I’ll answer you.”
A different sort of tension started to coil inside me at the feel of his hand.
I nodded as I set the reticule aside, forcing him to remove his hand. It took me a moment to remember what we’d been saying. “Why were you in Italy for a year?”
“Studying.”
“Studying?” I frowned. “What?”
