“Why do you care what I do with my time?” he retorted.
Mattie shrugged. “I don’t,” she replied. “I am just attempting polite conversation.”
“You will have to do better than that when you are mingling with people of theton,” Lord Winston stated.
“I assure you, I can be quite pleasant when the situation warrants it.”
“And this situation does not warrant it?”
A dry laugh escaped her lips. “Of course not, my lord,” she declared. “You are only taking me on a carriage ride because your mother asked you to.”
Lord Winston clucked his tongue, his annoyance barely concealed. “I suggest that we call a truce, for now.”
“A truce?”
“Yes, we attempt to be civil to one another on the carriage ride, and when it is over, we both go our separate ways.”
Mattie considered him for a moment, her eyes searching his for sincerity. “And the truce is only for the carriage ride?”
“Yes,” Lord Winston confirmed.
“Very well,” she agreed. “A truce it is.”
With that agreement, they stepped outside and approached the waiting carriage. Mattie couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation at the prospect of spending time with Lord Winston under a fragile truce. It was both daunting and intriguing.
Lord Winston came to a stop next to the carriage and offered his hand. Mattie placed her hand into his and allowed him to assist her up. His grip was firm and steady, and she couldn’t help but feel a spark at his touch.
Once she was situated, Lord Winston came around the other side and settled beside her, their legs brushing against one another in the confined space.
He reached for the reins and urged the team forward, his gaze straight ahead. “It is a fine day we arehaving, is it not?”
The weather. That was a safe topic. “Yes, it is quite lovely.”
“Do you think it will rain?”
Mattie glanced up at the cloudless sky. “I do not think so, but it is England. It always rains, does it not?”
Lord Winston nodded. “It does.”
Mattie wasn’t quite sure which was worse: arguing with Lord Winston or discussing a mundane topic such as the weather. Both seemed equally tedious. She decided she would much rather have a frank conversation with Lord Winston and hoped that he felt the same.
“I have read about your cases in the newssheets,” she said, turning slightly towards him. “You must be proud of your accomplishments.”
Instantly, she knew she had struck the wrong chord.
Lord Winston’s back grew rigid. “Proud?” he repeated, a bitter edge to his voice. “No, that is not the word I would use to describe it.”
“Then what word would you use to describe it?” she pressed, genuinely curious.
Mattie noticed the hard stare. The clenched jaw. And realized that whatever she had said had upset Lord Winston. His usual confident demeanor was replaced with something darker, more troubled. The reins tightened in his grip, and his knuckles whitened.
“Obligated,” he said, his voice low and tight. “I do what is necessary, not for pride or recognition, but because it must be done.”
She paused as she carefully considered her next words. “That sounds… burdensome.”
“It is,” he admitted, his gaze still fixed on the road ahead. “But such is the weight of responsibility.”
Mattie studied him for a moment, hearing what he wasn’t saying. Lord Winston had wanted to be a barrister for as long as she had known him. So why did he seem so troubled? Mostpeople in his position would be boastful. But not him. Why? It led her to only one conclusion. “I’m sorry,” she said.
