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Her mom began reciting sonnet eighteen. ‘“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…”’
The poem was one Estelle knew by heart, but even though she’d studied the meaning of the words, its message hadn’t hit. But now, as James’s thumb drew leisurely circles across the back of her hand, the words travelled straight to her heart and made it weep.
‘“But thy eternal summer shall not fade… When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st…”’
Was her own summer already fading? She was thirty-one in five months and no man had ever wanted to take her on. She could blame her eccentric family or her long working hours, but ultimately, none of that should have mattered. The truth was that she was too much for anyone to handle.
Feeling James’s eyes on her, she clenched her jaw to stop tears from spilling out. It was her idea for them to fake a relationship for the evening, but having his attention turn from professional to personal made her yearn even more for what she couldn’t have.
She pulled her hand from his. ‘I need to circulate,’ she whispered, then left the table and made her way to one on the other side of the room. She needed distance in order to keep her emotions in check. She’d already jeopardised the festival once. She couldn’t do it again.
Estelle kept away from James as the evening progressed, trying to speak to every guest in turn, even if it was to just thank them for coming. Libby’s Regency dancing workshop went down a storm, and when it was over, Willow sat back at the piano to play easy-listening music and people coupled up to dance.
Estelle glanced nervously around the room. Had the night worked? She caught Sarah Hughes’ eye, the other councillor who’d witnessed her bust-up with James. Sarah’s gaze flicked between her and James, who was standing at the other end of the room.
Shit! Had she messed everything up by avoiding him since dinner?
Before she could second guess herself, she strode over. ‘We need to dance,’ she said under her breath.
He nodded and extended his hand.
Taking it, her heart fluttering, she let herself be drawn into the centre of the room and into his arms.
Next to him, in her ballet flats, Estelle suddenly felt smaller than normal. She was taller than the average man, however nothing was average about James Hunter-Savage, and he now had over five inches on her.
Willow was playing ‘Moon River’, and Estelle let James pull her closer, until she was against his hard chest. One of his hands grazed her shoulder, the other rested at the base of her spine.
She shivered, her body craving more of his touch.
He dipped his head. ‘Are you cold?’ he murmured in her ear.
‘Do you think they bought it?’ she whispered back.
‘The festival?’
‘No, us.’
He paused before replying. ‘I don’t know.’
Estelle looked around. Henry stood at the side of the room, his arms folded across his chest as he glared at them. Several people glanced from his grim expression to the two of them dancing.
Where’s Libby got to?
Vivienne glided to her son’s side and walked him away. Was it too late? Did everyone know they were faking it?
‘We need to kiss,’ she hissed.
James’s head snapped back. ‘What?’
‘You have to kiss me. To make this look real.’
His gaze flicked to her lips, becoming heated and intense.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked, his voice a low rumble.
Unable to summon words, she nodded.
His face lowered, then stopped, his features tight with tension. ‘How do you want me to kiss you?’
