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“Why not?”
“I need to be alone.”
Her eyes widened. “Tobias, I—”
“No, countess. Since I’ve met you, I have no idea who I am. You tie me in knots and the feelings are not pleasant. For the first time in my life, I truly believe I am just like my father. I felt everything when I realized you were in a room alone with your stepbrother. Unreasonable jealousy, possessiveness, rage. Before you, I’ve only experienced a shadow of such feelings.”
“I love you,” she said softly.
Once again, everything inside of him jolted at the words. Then his heart started a furious rhythm. He recalled her utterance that love was patient and kind. The violent emotions she roused in his heart, his obsessive need to brand her with his touch and kisses, felt no semblance of kindness or patience. He forced himself back under control.
“Do you have any affections for me?” she ask boldly, as was her way, jutting her chin, and damn if she was not staring him down.
“No.”
She flinched.
“What I feel for you is beyond affection. At the crest of each dawn I think of being inside of you. I write and you crowd my thoughts. I sleep and you are the last person I think of, and damn me if when I wake, you are not the first person I fucking look for. I think that borders on obsession wife, not mere affection.”
“Tobias, I—”
“I wanted to kill William for touching you. In fact, he may be walking in London sometime in the future and meet his demise with a footpad.”
She gasped.
“You are dangerous to me, wife.”
“No, I am not,” she said most earnestly.
“I am leaving Grangeville Park.”
She froze, indecisions flaring in her eyes. “For Town?”
“Yes.”
“Shall I pack?”
“No.”
He could see the pulse fluttering wildly in her throat.
“I see.”
What did she see, exactly? Did she understand he needed to shore up his resolve and that it was impossible to do that in her presence? Would she understand that he felt out of sorts, so unlike himself, as if someone else had invaded his body and it was all because of her? No, and he would not burden her with his feelings, he would simply exorcise her and return to the man he was at peace with.
The man he had been before he lost his damn senses inside that linen closet.
…
Hours later, Livvie was unable to sleep. Kicking the twisted sheets from her legs in frustration, she launched from the bed. Marching to the armoire, she selected a simple gown and dressed herself. She headed to the room that she had converted to a painting studio, desperate to hold a brush in her hand. A few minutes later, she opened the door to the studio, calm filling her by simply being surrounded by her work.
Glancing through the window, she spied the sunrays as dawn broke. She wanted to ride across the mews to the grotto she had discovered and pour her confusion into painting, but the overcast sky warned her it was best to stay indoors. Livvie donned an apron, left the chilly studio, and strolled down the hallway to the parlor, grateful to see that a fire was already lit there. She arranged her easel and sheets toward the windows and then drew the drapes. The beauty of the rolling lawn stole her breath. Today, she would lose herself in painting, and nothing else. Perhaps something good would come from it, and she could send a few pieces to the shop she sold through in London and hopefully they would be snatched up as her other works had been.
She sat down, carefully opened her box, and started to paint. There was a knock on the parlor door, and Livvie reluctantly shifted her concentration from the easel. A quick glance at the pocket watch showed she had been painting for four hours.
“Yes?”
The door opened and in strolled Francie.
