Her spell dissipated into the dust motes floating in the shaft of sunlight above them, and a pang of regret pierced Finn’s chest. He couldn’t let her ride that horse—not without speaking to Captain West first. Chaos might seem tame enough now, in his stall, but there was no telling how he’d behave once she was mounted and riding him across open country.
He opened his mouth to tell her she’d have to choose a different horse for today, but when he spoke, that wasn’t what he said at all.
“He likes you.”
“Yes, I think he does.” A delighted grin flirted at the corners of her lips, and Finn’s knees weakened.
They were both quiet for a moment, then he surprised himself again by asking her a question he didn’t know he needed answered until the words left his mouth. “You never spoke to me about Typhon, or about your life in Surrey. All those weeks I courted you, and even after we were betrothed, you never spoke to me about your father. Why?”
She glanced at him, surprised. “I don’t speak of him much, and I—I didn’t think you were interested.”
“But you believe Lord Wrexley is?”
Wrexley was utterly unworthy of her confidence, and yet she’d chosen to share a part of herself withhim?
“I told Lord Wrexley the story about Typhon because he asked, my lord. You never did. If you recall, we didn’t talk much, despite the many weeks we spent together.”
Finn’s brows drew together in a frown. “I don’t recall that, no. We spoke as much as any betrothed couple does.”
They’d spoken at suppers and musical evenings, and when they danced together at balls, or walked in Lady Chase’s garden. When he’d called on her, they’d sat with her sisters and grandmother and spoken of…they’d spoken of…
Well, whatever they’d spoken of, he’d thought it perfectly acceptable at the time, and he’d never noticed any dissatisfaction on her part. But perhaps that was the problem. Now she’d jilted him—twice—he was noticing all kind of things about her he never had before.
She ran her palm down the horse’s nose, avoiding Finn’s gaze. “We spoke, of course, of the things any courting couple speaks of, such as dancing, mutual acquaintances, and the latest scandals, but we never spoke of anything of consequence, and certainly never of anything personal. I can’t think of a single instance in which I openly shared my opinion with you during our courtship, or our betrothal.”
There was a dejected note in her voice that startled Finn. He tried to recall their courtship—what he’d said, and what she’d said—but all he could remember was he’d always come away from their time together with a vague feeling the courtship was going as he intended. He hadn’t bothered to consider it, or her, beyond that.
It had been a mistake, but surely it wasn’t onlyhismistake? “I beg your pardon. I should have asked, or talked to you about my own—”
Family.
That was what he’d been about to say, but he bit the word back before he spoke it. What was there to say about his family? That his mother had run off to Scotland with her lover when he was six years old and left his heartbroken father behind to struggle with his grief? That his father had lost that battle when Finn was eight years old, and he’d been left to the care of an indifferent guardian, his headmaster at Eton, and a houseful of distracted servants? He never talked about his family, because beyond that grim tale and the empty void that followed it, there was nothing to say.
He cleared his throat, and tried again. “I should have talked to you, but you could have talked to me, as well. You never did.”
She’d reached over the stall door and was stroking the stallion’s chest, but her hand stilled at his words. “I wanted to at first, but…well, I was afraid I’d say the wrong thing, and after a while I was afraid to say anything at all. It just seemed easier to remain quiet.”
Finn almost laughed. A few minutes ago this woman had nearly brought him to release with her voice alone. What did she need with words? “You don’t seem to have any trouble finding the words to speak to Lord Wrexley.”
“He’s easier, somehow.”
A muscle twitched in Finn’s jaw. “Why? Because he’s an earl and I’m a marquess? Or is it because Lord Wrexley is suchgreat fun? After all, he’s the sort of man who’ll run races with you, whereas I’m the man who refused to kiss you in a sunlit garden.”
There was so much resentment in his tone he couldn’t deny the truth to himself any longer. He was jealous. OfLord Wrexley, for Christ’s sake, and angry with himself, because he’d been fool enough to squander the chance to kiss her.
A faint flush rose in her cheeks. “It has nothing to do with that, and even if it did, I don’t wish to discuss it here. Lord Wrexley and Lady Honora are right outside the door, and they’re waiting for us.”
“Let them wait. It sounds as if you’re saying you were afraid to talk to me, and I want to know why. I may be a marquess, but I’m not a brute.”
She sighed. “I don’t think you’re a brute, Lord Huntington.”
This sounded more promising, and some of Finn’s tension eased, but before he could draw another breath, she added, “But at the same time, I never got the impression you cared much about what I thought, whereas I believe Lord Wrexley asked about Typhon because he truly wanted to the know the answer.”
“Yes, he was quite keen, wasn’t he? I doubt his curiosity is as innocent as you think it is.” Wrexley was a villain, but he wasn’t a fool. He had a reason for everything he did, and Finn had no doubt whatever reason he had to suggest she ride Chaos, it benefitted no one but himself.
She turned away from him, back toward Chaos’s stall, but when she spoke she was watching him from the corner of her eye. “Innocent or not, I prefer his curiosity to your indifference, Lord Huntington.”
She’d gone back to stroking the horse, but Finn wasn’t about to let her avoid his gaze. If they were going to speak truthfully to each other at last, she was going to look him in the eyes.
