There was a heaviness in the room. A strange sense of change she could not quite define. But if she could not understand it, she could, at least, ignore it. So she did, turning her attention to the next scene in the play, Juliet in Capulet’s orchard.
She had not read long when Mr. Winter interrupted her.
“Take him and cut him out in little stars?” he repeated, his tone incredulous.
Evie glanced up from the pages, her gaze settling upon him once more. “That is what Juliet said, yes.”
“After he is dead,” Mr. Winter added, as if he required clarification.
“Give me my Romeo,” she read again, “and, when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars—”
“Worse than a body-snatcher, this bit of petticoats,” Devil grumbled, interrupting. “Dangerous, too.”
She searched his face for any hint of laughter, but found none. “She is in love with Romeo, and quite desperately so. Only listen to the rest.And he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night.Is it not romantic?”
Mr. Winter snorted, his disdain evident.
“She is convinced all the world should love Romeo as she does.”
A dark brow rose. “Plotting about his death and turning his body into stars?”
“A figure of speech, Mr. Winter. Nothing more.” Evie paused, sighing. “I admire her devotion to Romeo. To have that kind of love must be an incredible gift.”
“Until you’re turned into stars.” He sniffed.
“I should like someone to think of me in such memorable terms. To believe if I were turned into stars that I could make all the world fall in love with night.” When she noticed the manner in which Mr. Winter watched her—the sharpness in his gaze, the stillness in his posture—she wished she could withdraw those words. Wished she could unsay them.
“Your Lord Dullerton does not?” His query was low. Gruff.
His stare was intense. Intimate.
It took Evie a moment to realize he had referred to Lord Denton as Lord Dullerton.
“His name is Lord Denton, Mr. Winter.”
“Sounds the same to me.”
She frowned at him. “I assure you, there is a marked difference.”
But he was undeterred and unapologetic. “You didn’t answer the question, milady.”
Her cheeks went hot, for she realized she had just admitted aloud the secret she had been carrying deep inside her heart. The one she had not dared to share with anyone else; not even her twin sister Addy: that Lord Denton did not love her and she did not love him. Their sister Hannah had suffered a loveless marriage that had left her in agony. Evie did not want the same for herself. And Addy’s marriage with Mr. Dominic Winter was…unusual. Scandalous to many. However, Addy and her Mr. Winter loved each other, madly and deeply.
Was it wrong to want that sort of love herself? To long for a love like Romeo and Juliet’s?
“Milady?” he prodded.
She did not want to answer him. Not only because she had just made a most unhappy realization about her future with Lord Denton. But also because revealing her true feelings to Mr. Winter felt far too intimate. Every bit as intimate as the unexpected sensation of his hand on her bare skin.
“Shall I read more?” she asked, instead of giving him the response he wanted.
“No.”
They stared at each other. His silence was deafening. His gaze shrewd. She could not shake the feeling he saw to the heart of her. Saw everything she did not want him to see. Everything she had not seen herself.
Until now.
Until this man.
