“Yes, you were.” He rested his hand on the back of one of the chairs. “Sit, Lady Barrington. I insist so that we might speak plainly.”
“About what?” She sat, her back more rigid than ever as she eyed him. “I hardly know you, Your Grace, so I cannot see what we have to say to one another.”
Biting back a heavy sigh, he sat and sipped his whisky when he would much rather down it in one swig and start on another. “We, more so,you, can admit to what you would not when last we spoke.” He gestured at their surroundings before leveling his gaze on her lovely, if not defiant, face. “You can, in complete privacy, share why you dishonored my good name years ago.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I tell you, I did not.”
“Blast it, youdid, and I deserve to know why because I did nothing untoward.”
When her mouth thinned into a tight line, her cheeks flamed red, and she started to stand, he continued.
“If you tell me, give me that much, I will tell you why everyone is making such a big fuss about the pianoforte coming down the hallway at this very moment.” He clenched his jaw and fought sharing this with such a difficult woman, but he did have a mission here. “More than that, I will tell you what it has to do with me.”
She started to lower into her chair again but clearly thought better of it. Instead, she set aside her glass, squared her shoulders, and stood with her back to the hearth. Rather than reprimand his cursing, she clasped her hands neatly in front of her, stared down her nose at him, and made things clear.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” she said calmly despite the rosiness of her cheeks and the unexpected fire in her thickly lashed eyes, “but you are not my husband, so you willnotorder me about.” She shook her head sharply. “This is an inappropriate situation for us both. It puts my good name at risk.”
It would if she were a blooming virgin, and this was her coming out. Neither of which was the case. And while tempted to cut back with such, he refrained. Not only because it worked against his goal but because he caught the slight shake of her hands as she clasped them together more tightly.
Her emotions were obviously running as high as his.
“I am sorry,” he said softly, meaning it. While determined to get long-awaited answers first, it was clear Prudence was every bit as wounded as he thought she might be. That underneath her thoughtless words of years ago existed a woman struggling to break free of binds. He was pleased, however, to see shewasstruggling. Fighting. That Barrington had by no means broken her.
So he decided to go about this differently.
“The pianoforte is my late wife, Elizabeth’s.” He sipped his whisky and turned his gaze to the flames, remembering how she had looked playing it. The way her fingers had flown over the keys. “She has MacLauchlin blood, so her most favored instrument belongs back with her beloved clan.”
Blake had initially denied Jacob when he said it was finally time for it to come home but had, at last, given in. Understood that, in some small way, he needed this. That despite moving on enough to help others, he still suffered himself and seeing it day after day had grown too difficult.
Silence hung heavy for several long moments before Prudence finally spoke.
“I am sorry as well,” she said just as softly before clearing her throat. “I had no idea you were married to a MacLauchlin. It was kind…and right of you to bring it back here.” However stiffly, she returned to her chair, folded her hands on her lap, and seemed to weigh her words. Finally edged toward the disservice she had done him years before. “Why did you do it, then? Why show such untoward affection so openly with me years ago if you loved your wife so much? Because if you did such with me, you surely did so with others.”
He was not sure where to begin with her accusation. Untoward affection? When? In that brief interlude in Hyde Park, surrounded by friends? During the few minutes they were introduced, then went their separate ways?
“I didnosuch thing,” he said more vehemently than intended. “I would have never betrayed my wife like that. I would have sooner died.”
“You did, though.” She swallowed hard. “I saw the look in your eyes when you took my hand. Saw the way you wanted to kiss it. How your gaze roamed my face with appreciation despite having a lovely, devoted wife. How you thought nothing of saying you would like to call on me and—”
“Your Grace?” Blake’s butler said when he opened the door, interrupting the moment. “The pianoforte has been returned to where Lady Rothesay would have wanted it. Where you wanted it.”
“Thank you.” While a part of him wanted to head there straight away, and another wanted to run in the opposite direction, he knew the best place, the only place, had to be here until he and Prudence had settled things. “Please close the door behind you.”
Rather than drink anymore for fear of lashing out when he needed to remain calm, he set aside his whisky and turned his attention to Prudence. Turned to a woman who was, without doubt, every bit as lost as he once was.
“I remember our brief encounter as well, Lady Barrington,” he said. “However, I recall it a tad differently than you. Would you like to hear how I remember it?”
She clenched her hands so firmly that her knuckles turned white. “If you insist.”
He kept from grinding his teeth. “I am not insisting but asking.”
Her tone was unrelenting. Distrustful. Not apologetic in the least. “Then do go on.”
Unwilling to look at her when he spoke of this because she had, after all, nearly turned it into something it was not, he focused on the fire once more.
