“Is Tilbury a worry?” He surged a step closer to her. “Has he been ungentlemanly toward you?”
Now she met his gaze. “Hehas been everything gentlemanly.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Lady Chattaway yesterday?”
“I didn’t have a chance, did I?” She said it oh-so quietly. An accusation.
“You cannot truly be considering this. You barely know him.”
“I am. My parents…” She tugged at the little puff sleeves of her muslin gown. “It would please them.”
“Bugger your parents. They don’t care for you.”
She reared away from him, her lips parting on a gasp.
When he reached for her, she flinched away, and he raked his hand through his hair instead. “I will not apologize, Tessa. It’s true.”
She turned her back to him, and it was better than a solid oak door with a heavy lock for barring him out.
His fingers ached to settle on the lovely slope of her shoulder, the rosy skin just barely visible through her flimsy fichu. But oak doors didn’t relish caresses. He dropped his hand to his side. “I onlywish to help.”
“Help? Ha. You’ve done nothing but what you shouldn’t in the last twenty-four hours.”
“The kiss? I assume you refer to that.”
The glance she cast over her shoulder was sharp and sent him reeling. He stepped closer because stepping away seemed so damn wrong.
Slowly she turned, lifting her chin and dropping each word as if they did not matter. “A kiss? What ki— Oh. Do you mean when you were foxed? I do not hold that against you.” She patted his hand as if he were a child then marched right past him, down the path and through the first door she encountered, the very picture of indignant poise.
Almost. Her hands were tight in her skirts, her shoulders slightly bowed, and she moved more quickly than she should, almost running. It was an escape.
From him.
He followed several steps, then forced himself to stop. Even if she’d never care for him as he did for her—yes, as hestilldid for her, damn it—he didn’t want to hurt her. But he had, and he was terrified by how eager, how desperate, he was to put it right.
Chapter Six
Tessa could tell by the way Tilbury told a story, that he was likely an excellent vicar. He knew when to pause, when to speak quietly, when to stop to shake his head. He had a kind smile for Lady Chattaway and Tessa whenever he looked their way, and he’d attended to them both tirelessly since they’d adjourned to the parlor after dinner. Handsome, amiable, approved by her father.
He was perfect.
Tilbury threw back his head and laughed, a response to his uncle’s conversation, and Tessa offered him a smile that caught his eye.
“That is a bold color, Miss King.” His gaze slipped down her gown, which was a lovely plum satin with a low bodice trimmed with gold braid.
“The paler colors do not suit me.”
“I should think the colors of innocence suit all noble women.”
Lord Brawly clapped a hand on Tilbury’s shoulder, and Tessa breathed more easily without the weight of his regard. She stared out the window at the black beyond the glass and let the buzzing merriment of the party slip away. She’d been by Tilbury’s side almost entirely since yesterday morning, and while he’d done nothing to insult her, he’d done nothing to interest her, either. He seemed to consider her a task complete.
Did she want to be a task to her husband? Or did she want more? Ha! Like what? Love? She wasn’t a lovable kind of woman. If she wanted a husband, a home, and children, an amiable marriage of convenience was the best she could hope for.
The darkness was thick and warm, and if she walked outside, it might suffocate her, but?—
What was that? A deep voice rolled toward her on a velvet wave. She blinked back into the parlor and tuned out Tilbury’s voice, searching for another. Yes, there.
She left, and no one seemed to notice. Naturally. The voice drew her into the hallway and to its very end, toward a room there, door open. The first sliver of space inside the room was fire-yellow and leaping, and that space between the door frame broadened with each step, revealing a few men and women gathered close around the fire.
