His brow furrowing, his gaze went to the ground, then slowly rose to her face. “I…I have come to care for you, Miss Thorncroft.”
“Care for me,” she echoed when it became clear that was all he was going to say. “Youcarefor me.”
“Very much,” he said, frowning, as if her reaction–or notable lack thereof–was not what he’d been anticipating.
“Oh,” she said, her voice rising an octave. “You care for meverymuch. I see.”
“Isn’t that…isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”
“Is that the only reason you said it, then? Because you thought Iwantedto hear it?”
With the slowly dawning trepidation of someone who realized they’d just stepped into quicksand and were sinking rapidly, Weston both literally and figuratively began to retreat. “I…I am afraid I don’t understand, Miss Thorncroft. I was under the impression that you would be pleased if I admitted how I felt.”
“I am pleased,” she said shrilly. “Do I notlookpleased?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Maybe that’s because I’ve served you my heart on a sterling silver platter, and you’ve just given it back to me on a tin plate.” Anger and disappointment filled Evie in equal measure as she surged to her feet. “I am happy that you care for me, my lord. Truly. I also care for things. Like this–like this fountain.” She gestured blindly at the marble statue in the middle of the glade. “Or this dress. Or these shoes, which are splattered in mud and most likely ruined.”
Weston’s frown transformed into a scowl. “You’re acting irrationally.”
“Maybe I am!” she exclaimed, flinging her arms wide. “But that’s what love does to people. Or so the poets would have us believe. It makes them act irrationally. Fearlessly. Courageously. It took great courage for me to admit that I love you. I’ve never said that to a man before. I’d never planned to say it. Or maybe I did, but I wouldn’t have meant it. Not really. Because I’ve never felt this…thisdeeplyfor anyone as I do for you. And to hear that youcarefor me…caring is all well and good. It certainly has its place. But it isn’t love. So I’ll ask, because you haven’t offered to say it.” She took a deep breath. A bracing breath. A potentially life-changing breath, depending on what awaited her on its release. “Do you love me, Weston?”
In a carefully neutral tone devoid of emotion that made her want to curl her hands into fists and pummel his chest, he began, “I care for you, Miss Thorncroft. Very much, as I said. One day, perhaps, that may turn into something that closely resembles–”
“Oh!” she cried, stomping her foot. “You’reimpossible.”
Unable to trust herself not to say something she’d come to regret in the morning once cooler heads had prevailed, she shoved past him and stormed towards the manor in a fit of indignation…and bitter, heartbroken dismay.
He could, Westonacknowledged in hindsight, have handled that better. Which was why he took it upon himself to seek out Evie before she sought her bed.
The hour was rapidly approaching midnight, but the game in the garden had filled everyone with renewed energy, and with the exception of Lady Danbury and a few other elderly guests, the main receiving parlor was a hive of activity as wine and gossip flowed freely.
Taking a glass of port from the tray of a passing servant, Weston indulged in a leisurely sip while he perused the room, staying to the back so as not to invite conversation. Unfortunately, despite his efforts at remaining inconspicuous, he was almost immediately singled out by none other than Lady Martha Smethwick.
“My lord,” she said by way of greeting as she sidled up beside him and dipped into a graceful curtsy. “How did you find the gardens?”
Reluctantly placing his search for Evie on hold, Weston forced a tight-lipped smile. “Green, Lady Martha. Quite green.”
“Oh, Lord Hawkridge,” she giggled, her gloved fingers glancing off the side of his arm. “You aresuchthe comedian. Who were you partnered with?”
“Miss Thorncroft,” he said absently. “Lady Martha, if you will excuse me–”
“The American? I’ve not yet had the opportunity to speak with her, but she seems lovely. How do you find the weather, my lord, now that the rain has ceased?” Martha smiled, revealing even white teeth and the fluttering hint of a dimple. Her blonde hair was swept back from her delicate features in an intricate twist of curls, and her curves, slight as they may have been, were on full display in a yellow gown with a low bust and cinched waist. She was a beautiful woman; her reputation as one of theton’spremiere jewels well deserved. And she would make a perfect countess.
For someone else.
Because he no longer wanted perfection and all of the varied shades of blandness that accompanied it. He wanted…he wanted tension, and discord, and someone who would disagree with him. Zealously. And then make love to him with just as much passion.
He didn’t want to stand in a parlor drinking port and discussing the bloodyweather.
He wanted to be knee-deep in a pond with his boots stuck in the muck while the woman he loved challenged him from the shoreline. He wanted to ravish her in the stables, and the kitchen, and every other inappropriate place that would cause a woman of Martha’s gentle breeding to faint at the mere thought of intimate relations being performed outside of the marital bed. He wanted to rescue orphaned animals, and go for long walks, and trade sarcastic quips over dinner.
And while he hadn’t been able to give Evie the words he’d known that she wanted, that sheneeded, he felt them. Deep down inside, where it mattered most, hedidlove her. With everything he had. With everything he was. With everything he wanted to be.
“Excuse me, my lady,” he said abruptly. “But there is someone I must speak with.”
“Can it not wait?” Martha asked. “We’ve hardly had a moment to exchange more than a few words, my lord. When I received your invitation to attend the house party, I assumed…” She trailed delicately away. “But perhaps I was mistaken.”
