“Mm.” He nodded. “It has been five years. This was the first time in five years that I thought to venture out. If it were not for Henry, I wouldn’t have.” He chuckled.
Sarah smiled.
He stared at her. She was so beautiful, her skin as soft as petals; pale in the moonlight. Her soft hair was touched with a golden glow in the candlelight, bringing its chestnut highlights out. Her willowy form was draped beautifully in the soft purple gown, and he could see how her eyes sparkled in the starlight.
Her lips parted a little as he leaned closer and his heart thudded, roaring in his ears. She was so close—close enough thathe could smell the soft floral scent of her, and her dress brushed against his ankles. He leaned forward, intoxicated by the night, by the darkness, by her closeness. Her lips were pale and inviting in the darkness and he leaned forward so that he touched them with his own.
Miss Brooke gasped, and Robert stiffened, afraid that he had scared her. She did not move away, though, and he pressed his lips closer to hers. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close, his senses swamped by the sweet scent of her, the feel of her body against his, the sweet taste of her lips. They tasted like syrup, like the sweet cordial she must have drunk earlier.
He held her, losing himself in the feeling of her closeness, in the joy of kissing her. She was leaning against him, her body soft against his, and the very fact that she did not shy away, that she was not afraid, that she welcomed him, drew him closer still.
He felt her tense and he stiffened, then a split second later he heard what she had heard. Footsteps. Someone was coming towards them. He stepped back instantly, fear thrumming through his veins, making his heart thump faster than if he was running.
“Mama!” He exclaimed in horror as he saw who was standing there. His mother had come out onto the terrace. Lady Bardwell was a few paces behind, and Robert saw Miss Brooke step back and he reached out a hand to steady her, thinking she would pass out. She caught herself on the railing and Robert stepped forward, wanting to protect her against whatever it was his mother was going to say. She cleared her throat and he glared at her.
She took a step back.
“What is the matter?” Lady Bardwell called nervously to his mother. Robert tensed. If Lady Bardwell knew, then tomorrow Marina would know and soon thereafter probably the whole house-party would know. He could not let it happen.
Miss Brooke would be ruined.
“Mama,” he whispered.
“Nothing, Marcia,” his mother called back as Lady Bardwell appeared. “Just talking to Robert. Son? You will come in to join us,” she added, a demand that he could not refuse.
He glanced at Miss Brooke, but she had stepped into the shadows. When Lady Bardwell came over to join them, she did not seem to see her.
“Come, son,” his mother said firmly. “Let us return to the ballroom.”
Chapter 20
“Are you out of your wits?” The duchess’ voice was hard and cold and each word hit Robert like a slap. They were standing in the parlor area of their chambers at Averhill Manor, the fire burning low behind him where it cast a cool glow over the blue-lit darkness in the room.
“I am not out of my wits, mother,” Robert said tightly. “I have more possession of my wits than I have had for years.”
“Don’t be a fool,” his mother snapped. “I saw you kissing her. I am not blind. And nor is anybody else. Marcia could have seen.” Her voice was tight with anger.
“I kissed her,” Robert said stiffly. He hated the fact that his mother had witnessed something so beautiful. It was a pure, wondrous moment, and she twisted and cheapened it with her judgments and words. “I do not regret it.”
His mother’s eyes widened, her face a picture of shock. After a long minute, she spoke.
“You’re a fool,” his mother said, shaking her head. Her voice was low and bitter. “I thought I had raised you properly. But you’re an utter fool.”
Robert’s heart twisted. He hated the way she tried to make him feel ashamed, as though she was ashamed of him. He was thirty years old and yet it hurt as badly as it would have if he had been seven.
“I do not regret what I did, mother,” Robert said tightly. “And nobody elsedidsee. That should be all that matters.”
“You still did it!” his mother hissed. “Have you no thought for anybody’s reputation?”
Robert sighed. It was past midnight, and he was exhausted. He had somehow managed to stay awake and struggle through the rest of the ball, despite the shock and despite his motherensuring that he did not stray far from Lady Marina all evening. He had hidden his emotions as best he could for hours, and he could barely hold them in.
“Mother, I am fatigued,” he said, not concealing the exhaustion in his voice. “I suggest that we both retire to bed, and we discuss this at a more appropriate hour.” He stifled a yawn. He could barely see, and he was swaying on his feet, he was so tired.
“You’re evading the argument,” his mother said bitterly. Robert’s hands clenched as he struggled to control his anger.
“It is the middle of the night. I have been on my feet for four hours. You have also been awake all night. Pray, let us go and get some rest and we will discuss it in the morning when we can both think clearly.”
“I don’t need to think any more clearly than I am now,” his mother snapped. “And if you were truly that foolish, apparently you don’t think too clearly in any circumstance.”
