Percy had hoped to still have a word with Kenley and took a room at a local inn, where he spent two days recovering from the pain inflicted on his body. Then, in hopes that Peter would not be around, he returned to Deborah’s home only to be given a missive by the butler that stated that Peter had apprised Kenley of what transpired and that Percy was no longer welcome at Kenley Manor, nor would he ever be.
Five
December 1818 ~ a year and a half later ~ Maywood Manor, Oxfordshire, England
A tingle swept down her spine as the air shifted in a manner that Deborah had not experienced in well over a year. It surrounded her as she leaned forward, peering through the foliage to determine the cause and afraid it was on account of one person, but he was not in the room, thank goodness.
“Who are you spying on?”
Lady Deborah Storm jumped at the whisper in her ear and whipped around only to come face to face with Percy—the cause of her disquiet.
A mixture of anger, longing and pain rose from within and nearly overtook her composure, but she kept it contained. Never would Percy know how her pride, dignity and heart had suffered after he had disappeared.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I was invited.” He grinned at her.
“As was I.” She then turned to peer through the large leaves of the palms set at the far side of the drawing room. If she ignored him, maybe he would go away.
Except, she would still be forced to deal with him during the house party so she must project confidence, pretend that he did not matter, and forget that he had kissed her.
“You did not answer my question. Who are you spying on?” he whispered again. His warm breath on her neck caused goosepimples to form on her arms. That was always the way when Percy was this close. Too near.
“I do not believe that it is any of your concern,” she returned. “Now, go away.”
“I cannot do so,” he insisted.
“Whyever not?” she demanded. “If you wish to spy as well, find some other place away from me.”
“Ah, so you are spying.”
Deborah blew out a sigh and turned. “What do you want Viscount Shrewsbury?”
The corner of his mouth tipped. “You used to call me simply Percy.”
She returned to her spying. It was better than looking into his sapphire eyes. They were deceptive eyes. “A mistake.”
“You wound me, Deborah.”
She snorted. “It is not like you to be dramatic.”
“I think you may have misunderstood past intentions,” he offered quietly.
“Oh, I understood them very well, Viscount Shrewsbury.” She then straightened and shook out her skirts. “I have learned that you cannot be trusted.” If he was not going to go away then she would. “Good day, Viscount Shrewsbury. I hope you find your holiday mildly amusing.” With a sniff, she marched from the drawing room, onto the terrace and shut the door behind her. Back stiff, she continued walking until she was where nobody could see her.
“Blast!”
Of all the people her brother-in-law, the Marquess of Wingate, could have invited for the holiday, why did one of them have to be Percy?
Though, apparently, Wingate and Hannah, her sister, hadn’t done the inviting but Ashton’s brothers who thought to even the numbers because so many female relatives were in attendance. They’d only received word of the added guests this morning and the reason Deborah had hidden was so that she could see who would be joining them and be prepared. She knew there were to be five gentlemen, but she had not expected one of them to be Percy.
Now what was she to do?
She certainly could not let him ever know how much his sudden disappearance after kissing her so thoroughly had crushed her heart.
But, treating him coldly and being distant would invite questions that she did not want to answer.
Deborah opened another door and slipped into the library, thankfully empty, which would allow her to think in peace.
