She smiled brightly, while her heart began to break. It was only as she cleared away the first course, refusing to let Durward help her, that she realized part of her inexplicable anger was at herself.
For years, she had been flung this way and that by events or by people she could not control. Her mother had died, leaving her at the mercy of her father’s grief and his descent into the bottle. The neighbours had shunned her and she had allowed it. Lady Mansel had chosen to employ her, Sir Hugh to insult her. If her father had hauled himself to sobriety, it was not through anything she had said or done, but through Durward.
Enough, she thought suddenly, all but slamming the soup bowls down by the kitchen sink.I have to stop allowing myself to be pushed around by life or by other people. If I want him—and God help me, I do!—I must act, take the risk. And if I lose, well at least I will have tried and may get on with my life...
And so she pulled herself together and exerted herself to smile and make conversation while they ate the rest of the meal. She answered his wit with her own, and the banter between the three of them grew merry and fun. Durward’s eyes sparkled when they looked at her, and hope surged.
“Where does your sister live?” Papa asked once.
“In Wiltshire,” Durward replied, “but I shall find her right now at Lady Hawthorn’s house party.”
That gave her pause, for a moment. His trip now sounded more like fun than responsibility.
“But I hope to be back in Harwich in a week,” he added. “Two at the most.”
I will bring you back sooner, she promised silently, her heart beating hard with anticipation and fear.
After the meal, she made tea and served it in the parlour, where Papa began to fall asleep in his chair. Durward rose and took the cup from his limp hand.
“I must go,” he said, setting the cup in its saucer on the table. “You will give him my farewells?”
“Of course,” she said, standing with him as her heart beat harder yet.
She followed him into the hall, where he picked up his hat and smiled at her.
“Thank you for yet another lovely evening. I shall miss you.” He took her hand, and the thrill of his touch spread through her skin.
This time, she could not afford to wait for him to act, to speak. She summoned her courage and said breathlessly, “Good.”
Laughter sprang into his eyes, yet she felt his fingers loosen. It was now or never. She caught her breath, clinging to his hand, and stepped closer. The scent of his skin, clean and fresh with a hint of lemon, was intoxicating.
“Au revoir,” she whispered, standing on tiptoe, and pressed her lips to his.
He was so male and lean, she hadn’t expected his mouth to feel soft. The sensation was novel, sweet, and something she would never, ever regret. But with despair, she knew it was not enough to keep him. How had she ever imagined it would be?
“I love you,” she whispered brokenly against his lips.
And with that, everything changed.
His arms wrapped around her, dragging her close against his hard body, and his mouth pressed back, opening and moving on hers with sudden, desperate strength. Her stomach dived, and passion bombarded her, hot and arousing. His hand stroked down her back, over her waist and the curve of her hip and hismouth invaded hers until she felt them fusing together, lips and tongue and teeth.
He groaned softly into her mouth, and she felt his lips stretch into a smile on hers. “Oh, Cara, give me strength for this...” His hands slid up to her shoulders and he pushed her away. “I will come back. Goodbye!”
And before she could catch her breath, let alone speak, he whisked himself out of the front door and closed it abruptly in her face.
For a long moment, she stared at the door in desolation.
He has gone. I failed.
Desolation swamped her. Without intending it, she returned to the parlour and pushed back the curtain. She was just in time to see him in the distance, striding jauntily toward the end of the road as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
Behind her, Papa woke with a snort. “Oh. Has he gone?”
“Yes, Papa. He has gone.”
WHATEVER HE HAD SAID, she knew he would not be back.
Her declaration of love, throwing herself into his arms, had not been enough. Cringing, she was sure she had instead given him a disgust of her. Gentlemen expected decorum from their wives and Carina had behaved like a—a strumpet! She had killed any chance of love between them, and the unforgivable thing about it all was that she had known all along she had no chance with him. She could at least have kept her dignity.
