Damn her eyes, but why was guilt pricking his insides as if he were the one at fault here? She, not he, had made the choices which had landed her here.
“My parents have suffered greatly with the loss of their only son. All these months later and my mother is still practically inconsolable, and despite my every attempt to disabuse her of the notion…” She broke off and pressed her lips together, briefly.
After a moment, she drew herself up and began again. “Several days ago they departed on a long holiday. My father’s idea, in hopes of pulling Mother from the malaise which has gripped her since my brother’s unexpected demise. She and Gaston were particularly close.”
“And you did not wish to accompany them?”
She did not answer.
He got the distinct impression the offer to join them had not been extended, and an unwelcome sympathy for the lady rearedup within him.Bah.What did he know of her family dynamics? It was just as likely she’d wormed her way out of going in order to hunt him down.
Then another thought occurred.
“Are you by any chance trying to tell me they do not know you’re here?”
She shot him a surprised look, and he had his answer.
“Good God. And so, left to your own devices you, what, decided to go tearing across the country with some mad notion of laying the blame for your brother’s death at my feet? To what end?”
She stared at him in mute defiance.
What did she hope to gain, coming here, no chaperone, no parents, no way off the island? Unless…Bloody hell.“Did you think to trap me?”
“I’d hardly call it that. I more thought I would appeal to your honor.”
“You would use my honor to trick me into marrying you?”
She blinked at him, looking for all the world like she had no notion what he meant.
He was not buying it. He fixed her with a steely gaze.
A crimson blush flooded her cheeks and her mouth fell open as his meaning seemingly dawned. “Do. Not. Flatter yourself.”
Impressive. One would think her utterly horrified by the notion.
He knew better, and the look he aimed at her said as much.
They both recalled the time, not so very long ago, when she’d thought the idea of marriage to him grand indeed.
To her credit, she regained her aplomb in a matter of seconds, straightening in her chair, squaring her shoulders, smoothing her skirts. “For your information, Lord Randall, the idea of marriage to you—the man wanted for questioning regarding my dear brother’s death—never once crossed my mind.”
That was the second time she’d asserted that he was wanted for questioning by the authorities. That gave him pause. None of the letters his sister Caroline had written indicated the Yard had expressed a desire to speak with him. He set the conundrum aside, fodder for future thought.
“And yet you put yourself—and me—in the untenable position of sharing overnight accommodations. I am an unmarried man. You, a young, unmarried lady of theton. Your being here, under the same roof with me, unchaperoned—even in this storm and in these conditions--invites scandal of the worst sort.”
“As to that”—she pursed her lips and elevated her straight nose as if posing for a portrait—“And as Ipreviously stated, I traveled here with a chaperone and with the added protection of registering at the inn under a false identity.” She looked so supremely pleased with herself, he nearly laughed. “As a widow, in fact.”
“How inventive,” he said dryly.
“Lady Valeria Woodville, in case you were wondering—”
“I was not.”
She went on as if he had not spoken. “—widow to your late cousin.”
“Mywhat?”
She eyed him like a schoolmarm correcting a recalcitrant student. “I explained to the innkeeper and guide that I’m heading south to London, and wanted to stop off here to break up my journey and deliver the sad news.”
