She tried to keep her hand still and her mind on her task. “I do not pity you.”
“Why ever not?”
She gave him a quizzical look and paused tending to his injury. “Do you wish for my pity?”
He regarded her for a moment, and a thoughtful haze clouded his gaze. “I think I could bear pity from almost anyone better than I could bear it from you.”
Her pulse stuttered, and her eyes held his, looking for any evidence of guile and deceit.
She found none.
Did he truly value her opinion so highly? Or was it merely the power she held over his future that made him wish for her good opinion?
And why did she hope it was not the latter?
The impulse to slide her fingers along the cut of his jaw ran through her like a river surging after a storm.
She removed her hand and clenched it in her lap. “You would prefer pity even from Oswald?”
Mr. Yorke seemed amused by this. “Infinitely. His opinion of me is a matter of indifference. It is your opinion ofhimI envy.”
She forced herself to continue attending to his injury. “Because you believe that is what stands between you and a Parliament seat?”
“No.”
She shot him a look, one skeptical brow raised.
“I want a seat in Parliament,” he clarified. “But what I envy of Oswald is that he has your confidence, your trust, and your attention.” He studied her face. “More, perhaps.”
Caroline’s body grew tight. “Oswald has been a loyal friend.”
Mr. Yorke smiled slightly, and there was a rueful glint to it. “And expects to be rewarded handsomely for it.”
“He expects nothing,” she countered, but doubt simmered beneath the words.
Perhaps Oswald did not expect her to marry him; perhaps he onlyhopedshe would. If itwashope, it was a more robust sort—the kind that meant to make hope into reality by sheer force of will. Only today, he had implied a level of understanding between them that Caroline well knew would have been discussed by those present after the gathering.
Mr. Yorke watched her, as though he could see her thoughts.
“Does loyal friendship not merit reward?” she challenged.
“Surely, loyal friendshipisthe reward.”
They looked at one another in silence.
“You and I both know Oswald has his sights set far higher than friendship with you—or even a Parliament seat.”
“Whereasyouarrived in Trelowen out of sheer selflessness.” She set the rag aside with more force than necessary, not letting her eyes leave his.
“No,” he acknowledged. “I came with a purpose—a selfish one, even. But you have challenged me at every turn, forced me to consider other perspectives. And I am the better for it.” There was a pause before he continued. “I may tease, Lady Radcliffe, but I ask nothing from you but what youwantto give.”
She covered the way her heart responded by a laugh. “Did you not say you wished for the opportunity to rescue me so that I would be obliged to support you in the election?”
“A joke meant to garner a smile from you,” he said. “I think you know me well enough by now to know I could never be satisfied with anything from you that was not given freely and willingly.”
Caroline’s heart thrashed at her ribs. Was he speaking of votes?
“If you wish to vote for Oswald,” he said, “if you wish to marry him, that is and must be your choice, but”—his mouth pressed shut, and a muscle in his jaw feathered—“if any part of you is doing it out of obligation…”
