“Yes.”
“Where to?”
The sea, where he’d sat all day in the sand and let the sun burn his face and watched the boats drift to and from the docks. Not that it had done any good. He’d left the shore with as many questions and troubles as he’d come with.
“Felton?”
He glanced back at her, went rigid as she slinked next to him. Apricot mingled with the heavy smells of horse sweat and old hay. “What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“You did not answer me.”
“What?”
“Indeed, you have not answered me at all. In any respect. On any matter.”
“I do not understand—”
“Oh, let us not pretend, Felton. For many years now we have endured a sort of silent attachment. And though it was not possible, through no fault of my own, for us to be together…still we have been true to each other.”
“I fear that is a reality Scrope was never made aware of.”
All coyness raced from her face. A vein bulged in her forehead, and for the second time that day, her face turned unnaturally pink. “You mock me, and I shall not stand for it.”
“You have mocked me a thousand times, Miss Haverfield, andIhave always stood for it.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“If you do not know, there is little point in mentioning it.”
“Do you know why I came out here?”
“Why?”
“To persuade you to take another ride with me. Just as we used to do before that…that wretchedchildarrived.”
Annoyance flared. “She is not wretched, and she is hardly a child.”
“She might as well be with the mind she has. Are you even aware how very little she knows? I would dare to say she had never curtsied to anyone until she came here. She knows nothing of proper etiquette. She knows nothing of instruments or letter writing or acceptable manners on receiving a guest. Indeed, she could not dress herself in mode if someone did not aid her!”
The stables stilled. Silence stretched between them.
He denied none of it because all of it was true. He knew that. Everyone did. All reasons why he could never unrein his heart. Or let himself fall. Or allow himself time, even for a second, to imagine anything at all between himself and the girl from the forest.
In the name of heaven, he ought to marry Miss Haverfield. He ought to ride with her tonight. He ought to kiss her now. He ought to find a way, somehow, to ensure a courtship blossomed between them.
“Father has given his blessing.” As if she’d sensed his thoughts. “We need never hide our affections nor endure such secrecy again.” Leaning closer. “It is what you have always wanted, Felton.” Gaze lowering to his lips. “What we both have always wanted.”
He took her shoulders with his hands. For a long time, he stared at her. The long lashes. The yellow curls. The creamy skin so unaccustomed to sun, and the lips poised, waiting, and expectant. What pride there would be in walking the street with such a lady. How people would be awed. How they’d respect, for the first time, something accomplished by a Northwood.
But she’d never look at him the way Eliza did, with eyes guileless and true. She’d never say all the things that bore meaning or draw out his hurt and make it easier.
And she’d never kiss him the way Eliza kissed him. How could she? How could anyone? Eliza’s lips had been trembling and uncertain and…pure. So pure and sweet and true, as if the kiss were words and the words said she loved him.
Of course she didn’t love him.
He didn’t love her. Did he? Did she?
“Felton …”
