Page 33 of The Season of Lady Chastity

“You would ruin a dress for a stranger?”

“Do you find that difficult to believe?” Her hand fell away from his arm, and he felt her stare.

“There are men such as Ruthven and Liddell who would not risk the shine of their Hessians to save another.” Bastian shrugged.

“And I know several women who risked their entire futures to expose a villainous woman.” Her retort was little more than a whisper and, for not the first time, Bastian had the sense that there was much about Chastity he did not know. “I long to have even an ounce of their courage. Ruining a dress to save you from”—she hesitated—“yourself would be well worth the cost. You are a most noble and worthy man, Lord Mansfield.”

Images of him cradling his mother’s body sprang to mind. What must it have looked like when Chastity entered his mother’s chamber?

“Because I cower at my mother’s side?” He chortled.

“It has nothing to do with your mother or her illness.” Her eyes narrowed on him as if she saw something within Bastian he didn’t even recognize. “I knew you were noble and worthy before entering your mother’s private chamber tonight. It began when I drew you from your musings here, yesterday, and you spoke to me openly and freely. You stood unprovoked when Comstock hurled insults your way and, despite being uncomfortable, handled yourself well when my brother teased you. And, after that, you offered Lady Camden help at breakfast. I saw all this before witnessing your care and devotion to your mother, despite the repercussions.”

“And if I confessed I do not feel noble or worthy?” he asked.

A man with an ounce of integrity would admit he longed to pummel Comstock—even during their time at Eton. A lord worth his salt would declare he resented his father for his illness. A gentleman would confess he had ulterior motives for remaining in the salon the previous evening despite Lord Torrington’s attempt to frighten him off.

Yet, Bastian lacked the fortitude to confess any of it.

Her gloved hand took hold of his, drawing his stare away from the glow of the moonlight on the moat.

“It isn’t a feeling, Bastian. It’s something that naturally resides in a person.”

There was no way to disguise his disbelief.

“Here, mayhap I can show you,” she said, pushing up the sleeve of his linen shirt to expose his bare arm. With her gloved finger, she traced the veins on his wrist. Goose pimples dotted his flesh and, even in the darkening night, and despite the cloudless sky, he could see the hairs on his arms stand up. “You feel cold, am I right?”

Bastian nodded as the same time a breeze swept across the countryside, brushed over the frozen moat, and played with Chastity’s honey-colored hair—continuing past them to the garden beyond.

“Beneath the stinging chill of your skin, within you, your blood runs warm through your veins, regardless of how cold you feel.” She lifted his bare wrist and placed it against her cheek, the biting cold of her skin on his welcome all the same. “You may not feel laudable, though I can see that you are. On the inside, Bastian, you are courageous, dependable, and...”

She paused, her gaze darting to his mouth as she nibbled on her bottom lip.

“I have a further confession,” she conceded.

Unease trickled down Bastian’s back as the biting chill found its way under his shirt collar.

Startlingly, the apprehension in her brown eyes mirrored his own. “It cannot be as dire as fibbing about the location of your cloak.”

“I fear it is far worse. And”—she sucked in a deep breath—“scandalous in nature.”

“Need I prepare myself?”

Chastity laughed lightly. “Mayhap.”

“Go on.” Bastian’s stomach tightened. He needed to hear her secret; though, at the same time, he was fearful it would break whatever spell held them close, his wrist still pressed against her cheek as the connection created warmth sufficient enough to banish the winter cold.

“The first moment I saw you by the moat, you appeared in the depths of despair. I truly did wonder if you planned to cast yourself into the murky water.”

Her confession had Bastian looking away in shame, focusing instead on the inky, frozen water in front of them. Perhaps it would have been best for all involved if he had done exactly that. Except, the moat was hardly adequate enough to see the task to completion.

“Please, look at me.” She sighed and held fast to his wrist against her cheek, refusing to release him and end the connection they shared. “That was not my confession.”

“What then?” His voice held no malice, only resignation.

“I thought to myself…I came to Oxburgh Hall determined to change how I felt and align it with who I saw myself to truly be. You see, I’ve always been in Pru’s shadow, her ever faithful follower. But I’ve no desire left within me to follow Pru in her life choices. And…here is my true confession, Bastian, I believe you are the man I can be my real self with. I knew it the moment I saw you. I didn’t feel the need to flee back toward the manor when you arrived. The moment the first witty retort crossed my lips, and you did not cast a peculiar glare in my direction, I knew.”

Bastian thought back to their first meeting, Lady Chastity sitting prim and proper on her blanket, her face tilted ever so slightly up as the late-afternoon sun kissed her skin despite the winter month.