“How do you mean?”
“I do not doubt but that she has gone about visiting and stirring old stories, until the Northwood shame is the latest on-dit again. Tonight is my punishment.”
“For?”
“Unwinding myself from her finger.” He nodded toward the plush ottoman on the other side of the ballroom, where Miss Haverfield sat with a pinched look on her face. Her eyes flashed their way before she turned back to Scrope and tilted her head with an exaggerated laugh.
A flair of envy prickled Eliza. “Why should you wish to be?”
“What?”
“Unwound.”
He glanced down at her. Not with a smile, nor a word, nor even a change of his stance. But something stirred in his eyes. Something sincere and soft and exposed, as if to say he …
Loves me.A thousand reasons said it couldn’t be, that he didn’t and never would, but she couldn’t believe them. She knew it was true.
For this moment, for now, hedidlove her. She owned his heart. She was the princess, the mermaid, the fairy—and he the noble rescuer who had entered her forest and changed her life.
But now wasn’t forever. The beast would ruin this too. No matter how long she tried to keep it from him, it would be there still. Lingering between them. Unspoken but real—and the longer she hid the truth, the more hurt she would bring on him.
And the more danger she would bring on herself.
She had to tell him. She had to get away from the Northwood house. She had to get the memories free from her mind, out of the nightmare, into words before it ate her alive and …
“You are shaking.” His brows furrowed. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She could not tell him here. Not until tonight. Not until they were alone.
“Stay here. I shall get you something to drink. Lemonade?”
“Hmm?”
“Lemonade to drink?”
“Oh. No. I am really not thirsty, I only—”
“Quite enough, Mr. Northwood.” Mr. Haverfield’s voice turned Felton around. The squire blinked hard. “You have succeeded in making a spectacle of me in my own home and you have dishonored me even further by insulting my guest.”
“Your guest?”
“Mr. Fransham—”
“The dashed man should learn to pursue ladies his own age.” Felton’s muscles bunched beneath the tight tailcoat. “And I did not insult him. He insulted me.”
“I will not stand here and debate this with you, Mr. Northwood. I am asking you to leave.”
“With pleasure.” Felton bowed, nodded, laced his fingers with Eliza’s and pulled her away. Not until they were back at the carriage, with the creaking wheels carrying them back toward home, did she force herself to look up at his face.
His jaw was tight, fists on each knee, and he shook his head as if to rid his mind of the night’s humiliation. “I could have beat the devil out of him for what he did tonight.”
Pity flooded her, as she pulled her own fingers into fists. Her words came out breathy. “Felton, there is something I must tell you.”
“What is it?”
The carriage was too dark to see her face. Moonlight only made the shadows deeper, until little else was visible but her glowing eyes. Her stricken eyes.
“Eliza, what is it?”
