Page 51 of Miss Devon’s Choice

“I can see that they mean a great deal to you. It is a good thing you have one another.”

“Who are your closest friends?” she asked, regarding him with

They had promised to speak honestly with one another. Yet Christian was hesitant to admit, to tell her, just how lonely his life was. He cultivated his disposition to discourage anyone from approaching him. It was better to be an object of respect and mystery than one of disdain and ridicule.

“I’m not certain I could claim to have any relationships that would meet your criteria as friendships.”

For a moment, she regarded him with surprise, then hastily faced forward again. “That sounds lonely to me,” she said, staring ahead of them at the road. “Do you not allow anyone close?”

“I do not,” he answered, unbothered by that truth. At least, he did his best not to be troubled by it. “There are few gentlemen I get along with. Members of my old rowing team still meet on occasion, to row, or to take drinks together at our club in London. Otherwise, there is no one.” He had Ajax, of course, but mentioning a dog while claiming no close acquaintances of the two-legged disposition seemed pathetic.

“My aunt has introduced me to many people who are, as she says, of the right sort. I have little in common with them.” She shrugged and reached up to adjust the brim of her hat when it brushed a low-hanging tree branch.

Christian allowed a beat of silence before going after the topic he wished to discuss and could not understand. “Why is it that you fear your aunt? She strikes me as an austere sort of person, but it seems as though she has a great hold over you.”

Rebecca winced and glanced away from him. “She is my guardian until I wed. All important decisions must therefore be made or approved by her.”

“And she is not an agreeable woman?” he pressed, trying to understand.

“We are vastly different in personality. Do you remember when you played the pianoforte for me?”

How could he forget it? In the music room, seated beside her, he’d begun to realize both how dangerous she was for his well-being.

“She does not always reduce me to tears, but that was one of the special occasions. I am afraid I was already ill at ease that morning when she took me to task of what she perceived to be poor behavior. She is a woman who believes the world ought to conform to her ideals. She is most determined in making things fit where she thinks they ought.”

Rebecca’s words, though spoken in a nearly careless tone, made his shoulders tense and his fists clench. King Lud flicked an ear back and Christian forced himself to relax, to avoid discomfiting the horse.

“She sounds like my grandfather.” Christian had been on the receiving end of many a lecture and several punishments more severe than the disappointing behavior warranted. A particular memory surfaced and he cut a glance at Rebecca. “When I first came back to this country, my English was very poor. Father had still spoken it with me enough that I could hold a basic conversation, but Italian was more natural. My mother spoke it to me from infancy, and then ten years—” He broke off that statement and sighed, the memories he’d tried to forget pushing forward.

“Your grandfather wasn’t understanding of that?” Rebecca asked, her voice soft and soothing him out of his memories.

“Not at all. He sent me straight to Eton and told me the other boys would beat it out of me. He was quite correct.” Christian couldn’t help but smile when her expression changed to one of shock. “Not to worry, carina. I survived the school. And when I came home on holiday, I was forced to sit in my grandfather’s library. I read aloud and he made a mark on a sheet of paper for every word that didn’t sound English enough.”

“That sounds rather terrible.” She pulled her horse up, as they’d come to the lane leading to the earl’s estate, and fixed him with a compassionate expression that made his heart tighten.

“The marks were to show me the number of times I had failed. I was forced to count them at the end of every day and chart them. Depending on the number of mistakes, different punishment would be meted out at the end of the week.”

“Oh, Christian.” She spoke with sympathy, not disdain. Her brown eyes shimmered. “I am terribly sorry. You were a grieving boy.”

He chuckled, though without much humor, and dismounted. It wasn’t fair to the horses that they stand still so long. If she wished to talk, they could do so while walking. Going to her side, he held his hands up to help her down.

Rebecca put her hands on his shoulders and permitted him to guide her to the ground. Christian allowed his hands to linger on her waist, enjoying how well they fit there, just above the curve of her hips.

Steady. Growing closer to her is perilous, remember?

He released her reluctantly and stepped back, then handed her the lead for her horse.

“The world isn’t kind to those who are different.” He gave her half a smile and finally started a slow-paced walk up the lane. “My grandfather did what he thought best to make me fit society’s expectations. By the time I went to Oxford, the accent was gone.”

“Oxford must’ve been better for you than Eton. Wasn’t it?” She kept even with him on the path, glancing at him from time to time as they walked. She held her long skirts up in one gloved hand and kept the lead for the horse in the other, yet her movements remained smooth and graceful.

“In some ways, yes. In others, it was much the same.”

Rebecca’s mournful eyes went from focusing on him down to her toes. If he’d meant to throw her into a state of melancholy, it seemed he’d done so. Christian sighed and approached her, taking the lead from her hand and adding it to his own. Then he reached for her hand, their gloved fingers interlacing.

“I do not tell you all of this to make you sad, carina. I want you to understand, at least in part, the sort of man I am. And why. Now you know why I keep myself apart and do not mourn the loss of company.”

And you will not mourn my loss when this thing between us comes to an end.