Page 17
How many courses had Theadosia planned for dinner?
Things marched along quite nicely, almost comfortably, for the next half an hour until Westfall, seated to Regine’s left, commented, “I ran into the Duke of Heartwaite at White’s this afternoon. Surprised me, I must say. He’s not usually one for London in January.”
Heartwaite had five and twenty years on Regine. No wonder Westfall hadn’t referred to him as her stepson.
Every bit of color leeched from her face, and she carefully set down her fork. “Indeed.”
A trace of something James couldn’t quite identify, but which raised his hackles, rendered her voice husky.
“You are correct, Your Grace. He prefers the comfort of his country estate during the winter months.” Her tongue peeked out to dampen her lower lip. “And by chance, did he happen to mention why he’d ventured to London?”
Rather than look at Westfall, she raised stricken eyes to James. Lost, hopeless eyes.
By God, what went on here?
Westfall shook his head as he forked a bite of horseradish crusted roast beef. “Not specifically. Said he had a legal matter he sought counsel about.”
“I see.” If possible, she paled further, her attention fixed upon her plate. The delicate pulse at the juncture of her throat fluttered wildly, her chest rising and falling swiftly in agitation.
She was well and truly upset. Why?
Seated on Westfall’s other side, Miss Greenville spoke to him, and, with an apologetic smile, he directed his attention her way.
“Regine? Is something amiss?” James raked his gaze over her. She was upset. Distraught even.
She met his eyes, and his stomach sank upon comprehending the fear pooling in hers. She bit her lower lip, her attention skipping over those seated nearest them before she edged closer.
“James, I know I have no right to ask, and I’ll understand if you cannot. But perhaps you can recommend another solicitor then. I know this isn’t the place, either.” She looked around the table, again, blinking slowly and appearing somewhat dazed.
Her anxiety had something to do with what Westfall had said. But what?
Apprehension and worry had replaced the poised façade she’d presented at the coffeeshop and museum. And even here, earlier this evening. He’d never seen her like this, and every protective instinct he possessed surged to awareness.
She might’ve tossed him aside as easily as burned bread, but James would unhesitatingly guard her with his life. The realization sucked the wind from his lungs. From the very room itself.
His focus narrowed, blocking out the sounds and sights surrounding him until it was just the two of them. A tiny island in a sea of guests.
Comprehension slammed into him.
He still loved her. He’d never stopped.
Fool. Fool. Fool.
He’d but buried his feelings, repressed and denied his hopes and dreams for a future with her. Love—resilient and potent—had remained, and now it pulsed through him, as steadily and as forceful as the blood in his veins.
“I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but I am at a loss as to what else to do—” Faltering to an abrupt halt, she inhaled deeply, the movement threatening to spill her ample bosoms from her gown’s respectable, but much-too-low-for-his-comfort-neckline. She flexed her fingers around her fork’s handle as if preparing to guard herself.
James had never seen Regine like this. Afraid. Uncertain. And needing him. He lightly touched the back of her stiff hand. God, she was genuinely distressed.
“What is it, Regine? I’ll assist if I can.”
She swallowed audibly, and hand shaking, lifted her wine glass.
More fool he, but he could no more deny her request than he could cut out his own heart.
“May I pay a visit to your offices tomorrow, James? I fear I require legal counsel, as well.” She raised those breathtaking pale blue eyes to his.
Forget-me-nots. That was the shade of her eyes. And he hadn’t ever forgotten her. How could he? He’d given her his heart all those years ago, and he’d never been whole since.
