Lucy shivered, both because of his implication of some dark secret he refused to reveal and the sudden nip in the wind. James chafed her arms under the warmth of his palms.
“What will become of my aunt?” Lucy would let him keep his secrets if he wished to, but Aunt Cassandra’s future mattered most.
“I swear to you that I will deal with her fairly.”
“I hope so.” In her heart, she knew so. Whatever he’d decided to hide from her, Lucy knew that James Pembroke was not a bad man. If anything, his arrival at Invermere was entirely prompted by circumstances he would change if he could, most of which were beyond his control.
Of course, she feared that wouldn’t soften the blow of her aunt learning that her beloved home must be sold, but Lucy didn’t doubt James would keep his promise.
A cool drop of rain fell on her forehead, and James reached up to swipe the dampness away at the same moment a drop landed on his nose.
“We should get inside.”
He was right, but Lucy lingered a moment. Once they entered the house again, there would be no more speaking openly or using each other’s given names. None of the closeness that seemed to come naturally when they were on their own.
“If Aunt Cassandra arrives this afternoon, this may be our last chance to speak privately.”
“I don’t know about that.” He stared back toward the house. “You seem quite adept at climbing out of windows.”
“And the first whiff my father hears of that, he’ll be on the fast train to Edinburgh.”
“They don’t know you’re an escape artist then?”
“I’m not sure they know me all that well at all.” Lucy didn’t mean to cause the sadness in his eyes. She didn’t want pity, especially from him. “But maybe that’s my fault. For the most part, I’ve always done what was expected of me.”
“And now you’re ready to rebel?” The words in his warm, low voice sounded like a challenge.
“I am.”
His mouth twisted in a teasing smile. “I’d like to see that, Lady Lucy Westmont.”
“Then keep watching, Lord Rossbury.”
Chapter Ten
The next day, Lucy managed to avoid him almost entirely.
He saw her walking the fields near the house and heard the staff mention that she’d gone down to the loch to sketch, but she didn’t seek him out, and they never spoke.
By the end of the day, as ridiculous as it was, he missed her. Missed speaking to her, being near her. Being the object of her attention.
Yet he wasn’t sure how to approach and found himself full of unspent energy as night fell.
Stepping into the sitting room he’d been locked in the night he arrived, he was glad to find a fire in the grate. None had yet been laid in his guest room, and he was loath to trouble the staff. In addition to the palpable resentment, he now sensed the unease that had set in when their mistress hadn’t appeared as expected the previous day.
Lucy was anxious too. One of the times he’d seen her fleetingly, she’d come down to speak to Mrs. Fox and inquire about any post or message from her aunt. Outside Invermere’s windows, the patter of rain had turned into a fearsome storm,which would likely delay the lady’s travels even further.
Hercules watched him from a spot in front of the fire, as if waiting for James to decide whether to stay in the sitting room or go. He didn’t know himself. In truth, he’d only come down because it felt wrong to be in a house with Lucy and not see her, speak to her.
The dog lifted his head, and James dropped into a chair near him, running a hand over the beast’s thick gray fur.
“I wonder what she’s doing up there.”
It was too early for sleep, but the one thing he knew with certainty was that she seemed a lady eminently capable of keeping herself busy. Bloody hell, the weight of the books she’d brought alone would keep the most avid reader occupied for a month.
As distracted as he’d been when they’d met, he hadn’t bothered to note titles. But now he wondered what sort of books Lucy liked to read. Tomes by that Coldbottom woman, apparently.
“Pardon the intrusion, my lord.”
