When she remained silent, merely looking at him with a confusing mixture of shock and grief, he smiled sheepishly. “Which, I suppose, was putting the cart before the horse. And here I haven’t even asked you properly, though your father assured me when he had the contracts drawn up that you would be only too willing to enter into a union with me. I’m sure it is not a dream young ladies have to let their fathers choose their future husbands for them and have the papers signed before they can voice their acceptance.”
The papers signed?Did he mean to say the thing was as good as done, that her father had not waited until the end of summer as he’d promised, but had instead signed her future away without even a warning?
Lord Redburn moved closer and took her hand in his. She was too stunned to react. “I am only too eager to court you, of course,” he murmured. “I would dearly love to get down on bended knee and do the whole thing up proper.”
He looked so sincere. For a moment, regret overrode the rest of her emotions. If Lord Redburn had come a week ago, she would have been all too willing to do as her father wished and let this man court her. But that was before.
Before Peter had taken her in his arms and loved her body.
Before he had touched her soul.
Before she had fallen in love with him.
Pulling her hand from the earl’s, she turned her back on him, pacing to the empty hearth. Her hands found the cold marble of the mantle, her fingers pressing into the hard stone as she fought to right the world back to one that made sense. Every instinct in her screamed to break the thing off now. The words settled heavily on her tongue, begging to be let loose and release her from this hell.
But her father’s missive, still clutched in her hand, crinkled then as she gripped the marble tighter. She stared at it, seeing in her mind the final line of that damning letter.
I don’t have to remind you what will transpire should you fail in this.
If she refused Lord Redburn and turned down his suit, her father would disown her.
Her stomach lurched. Bile rose in her throat, sharp and acidic. With effort, she forced it back down.
Her father loved her—he must; they were all they had for family in the world—yet she knew he would make good on his threat. Sir Alfred Hartley was shrewd, but he was also almost painfully honest. He was not bluffing in this; she was certain of it.
There was silence behind her. And then, “I’m sure this must all be quite a lot to take in, especially so soon after your last engagement. Please just give it some time. I’m certain you’ll find as much happiness in the arrangement as I before long.”
He was being far too kind and understanding. And it was doing nothing at all to ease her mind, only making her feel a keen guilt on top of her stunned confusion.
“I need to speak with my father,” she mumbled through numb lips.
“Of course. He mentioned he would arrive on the Isle after he concluded some business. We shall await him, talk to him together. I would have you at ease with this decision.”
She choked on a manic laugh. There was not much chance that she would ever be easy with this. For while Lord Redburn was by far the most palatable fiancé her father had found for her, he was not Peter.
“And until then,” he continued, moving closer, taking her by the shoulders, and turning her gently to face him, “perhaps you might allow me to court you properly? We’re to make a life together; I would show you, if I could, how well we will suit.”
He took her hand up and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. Just then a noise sounded in the hall. Lenora gasped, tearing her hand free from Lord Redburn’s grasp, and turned to the door.
Peter stood in the hall, his eyes cold and shuttered. And centered on her. As she watched, helplessness coursing through her, he turned and strode away.
Guilt flared, sharp and hot. But what did she have to feel guilty for? The man had proclaimed there could be nothing between them. He was set to return to Boston. And her place was here, in England.
Yet a small voice whispered that, if he asked, she would go with him to the ends of the earth.
She turned to Lord Redburn. “If you will excuse me for a moment, my lord?”
Before he had a chance to answer, she bolted from the room. Her slippers were silent on the runner as she ran down the hall after Peter’s retreating form. Goodness, his legs were long. He was striding across the front hall, his boots sharp on the polished floor, when she caught up with him.
“Peter.” She reached out, grasping his arm.
He jerked back as if burned. When he turned to face her, she reared back from the glacial look in his eyes.
She nearly turned tail and fled. This was not the man who had kissed her senseless the night before, who had treated her with such tenderness, who had brought her to such heights of pleasure.
But she would not run. That man was inside somewhere. And this was her future, after all.
“Do you have a moment?”
