Neither of them moved. From below came the murmur of conversation, the creak of a floorboard, the soft thud of a book being set on the counter. All of it felt impossibly far away.
She should turn from him, just as he had turned from her the evening before. It would be the right thing, the dignified thing, making it plain that there was no further connection between them. Except she could not. She could not move, could not speak, could do nothing but hold his gaze while regret, longing, and fury tangled together within her until she could not tell one from another.
He looked as if he were about to speak. His lips parted, a line formed between his eyebrows — and then his expression changed. His jaw clenched. He gave a small shake of his head and, to her horror, made to turn on his heel and retreat down the staircase.
“Wait.”
Lord Hampshire’s shoulders rounded, his head bowing forward as a long, heavy sigh rattled its way towards her.
“Please.” She did not want to beg, did not want to sound pleading with him, but all the same, it came from her lips regardless. “Do not walk away from me, Hampshire.”
“Lady Nora.” Inclining his head, Lord Hampshire did not look at her again but kept his gaze trained to the left of her.
His voice was cooler than she had anticipated, holding none of the warmth she had once associated with him. “I did not expect to see you here this afternoon.”
Nora took in a slow breath and shut her eyes for a second, trying to steady herself and quieten the roar of her heart. “I did not think you would be in London this Season. I thought a gentleman newly married would be settling himself and his bride into their new estate.” The pain that pushed into her heart like a dagger was so overwhelming that Nora winced visibly, gritting her teeth hard as Lord Hampshire frowned.
“I am not yet married.”
Shock silenced all other emotions within her, her gaze sharpening on his. “You – you are not?”
“My uncle passed away shortly after I wrote to you. I have only recently come out of mourning, but Frederica remains so, since he was her father.”
Relief roared in her, loud and furious as she stared back at Lord Hampshire, her foolish hope rising to the surface once more.
“But I shall marry once her mourning period is at an end,” he finished, sinking her hopes in an instant. “I have my duty and responsibility towards her, and I fully intend to keep it.”
For whatever reason, her feet propelled her forward. Her hand reached out, grasped his sleeve, and clung to him, her awareness of their nearness overwhelming, her chest tight, and her eyes fixed on his. She did not know what she wanted, did not know what it was that encouraged her forward, but all the same, there she stood beside him. Lord Hampshire’s swift intake of breath was enough for her, telling her more than he might ever put into words.
“What duty is this you speak of?” she asked, hoarsely as his throat bobbed. “You did not ever explain it to me, Hampshire. You told me only that you had this responsibility to your cousin, something that you had never mentioned to me before.”
“That – that is because I did not know of it before,” he answered, his voice barely audible, his hazel eyes filled with storm clouds as he gazed back into her eyes. “Believe me, Nora, I would never have allowed myself to become close to you had I known that my uncle was to demand this of me.”
She studied him. “Your letter told me that your heart was true,” she whispered, tears beginning to prick in the corners of her eyes. “But you will still turn from it? From all we shared and hoped for?”
His jaw worked, and then, he turned his face away, a ripple of pain crossing his features. “Some decisions are not one’s own,” he answered harshly. “It does not matter what my heart feels. I have nothing other than duty before me.”
“But she could marry any other suitable gentleman, could she not?” She was pleading with him now, she knew, but the desperate hope of his return to her was so great that she could do nothing but respond to it. “There are so many suitable gentlemen that she would be able to choose her very own match instead of being forced to marry you. Would that not be best?”
Lord Hampshire’s lips curved into a small, sad smile. “Why yes, it would be much improved from my present situation, but alas, it is not a situation that can ever be,” he answered, his eyes finding hers again as his shoulders dropped. “I am sure that – ” He stopped abruptly, surprising Nora as his eyes went across the room, halting there. A frown flickered across his forehead, his eyes sharpening on something that Nora did not see. She tried to resist the urge to turn her head, knowing how impolite it would be, but could not help but glance. Just what was it that had captured his attention and taken him away from their very firstconversation in over a year? Seeing nothing but a few gentlemen and ladies standing in the shop together, she pressed her lips together and glanced up at him again.
“Hampshire?”
His eyes snapped back to hers, his face a little paler than before. “Forgive me, Nora. I thought – I thought I saw… ” Trailing off, he looked away. “It does not matter. I should take my leave now.”
She did not want him to leave, could not bear the thought of him stepping away. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she blinked furiously, trying to push them away but failing utterly. One dropped to her cheek as he stepped back, her head bowing low.
“I – I did not ever mean to injure you in such a profound way.”
His fingers touched hers, and something tore open in Nora’s chest, both agonizing longing and a deep, visceral pain. They were close enough now that she could feel the warmth of him, remembering with painful clarity how it had once been for her to stand even closer to him. They had never shared a kiss, but that thought had often been in her mind – and even now, it came back into her thoughts.
“I am sorry.”
The whisper was enough to tear her heart asunder. She bowed her head and let out a broken sob, his fingers pulling away from hers as he finally left her side.
7
On a previous visit some days earlier, the drawing room had been arranged with a precision that bordered on the compulsive. Every cushion sat squarely at its angle, every book on the side table had its spine aligned perfectly with the table’s edge. The tea things were already set out, though he had arrived unannounced, and were positioned with a symmetry that spoke less of hospitality than of a mind seeking control where none existed.
