Olivia wasted no time, turning her full attention on her friend. “You must stay. I should be dreadfully bored without your companionship.”
Miss Theodosia glanced sidelong at Richard, her expression guarded. “I suppose I can remain for now.”
A delighted squeal escaped Olivia as she clasped her hands together. “What wonderful news! Come—we should dress for dinner. I’ve just had a new gown delivered, and I want your opinion on the sleeves.”
“I think that is a fine idea,” Miss Theodosia replied, allowing Olivia to loop their arms together.
The two women began their ascent up the staircase, their heads bent together in quiet conversation, as though the tension from moments before had never occurred.
Richard, however, remained where he stood, unmoving.
What had just happened?
He was almost relieved she had chosen to stay. With him. And it was not just because of Mr. Smith and his elaborate ruse. A part of him was softening towards her. It was maddening. Impossible.
Yet, if he truly wished to keep her in London, he would have to try. He would have to make a genuine effort… to be less guarded. To speak with her, not just interrogate. To see her as more than a complication.
Being open with her would not come easily.
But for the first time in years, Richard found himself willing to try.
Theodosia stepped out of her bedchamber, smoothing a hand down the pale pink gown Olivia had lent her. The fabric shimmered faintly in the candlelight as she moved down the corridor. The dinner bell had not yet rung, but she had no desire to linger alone in her room with her thoughts. The drawing room, she decided, would be a suitable place to pass the time—provided she didn’t encounter a certain marquess.
When she entered the drawing room, she came to an abrupt halt.
Lord Wilton stood near the tall window, his hands clasped behind his back, gazing into the darkness beyond the pane. The flickering wall sconces cast golden light over his form, highlighting the tension in his shoulders and the solemn set of his jaw. He hadn’t noticed her yet.
Botheration.
Theodosia considered retreating quietly before he turned around but that would be cowardly. She was not a child to be cowed by a man simply because he was insufferable. They were adults. They could exist in the same room without snarling at one another… in theory.
But something about his expression gave her pause. There was a heaviness in his gaze, a shadow that had not been there before. The Lord Wilton she knew wore arrogance like a second skin, but now… now he looked almost human. Vulnerable, even.
He turned abruptly, and their eyes met. Whatever softness she had glimpsed vanished beneath a familiar mask of cool detachment.
“Miss Theodosia,” he said with a terse nod and an even stiffer bow.
She dropped into a graceful curtsy. “Lord Wilton.”
An awkward silence stretched between them, thick and uneasy. She remained rooted to the floor, unsure whether tostay or go, and he seemed equally unsure of what to do with her presence.
At last, he cleared his throat. “I trust you rested before supper?”
“I did, thank you.” She could have left it at that and let the silence reclaim the space between them. But her curiosity got the better of her. “Something troubles you.”
His jaw tightened. “No.”
She studied him, undeterred. “You seem rather… sad.”
His entire frame went rigid. “Do you always speak your mind so freely?”
“I do.”
“It is vexing.”
She smiled sweetly. “We shall have to agree to disagree, my lord.”
He took a step towards her, the movement slow and deliberate. “The women of my acquaintance do not speak to me in such a familiar manner.”
