Richard chuckled, though the sound caught slightly in his throat. His eyes dropped to her perfectly formed lips.
For a moment, he was no longer the Marquess of Wilton burdened by responsibility and pride—but simply a man standing before a woman who saw him, understood him, challenged him in ways no one ever had.
And he very much wanted to kiss her.
But he didn’t. Not yet.
Not while questions still lingered about Mr. Smith and her past involvement with him.
With great reluctance, Richard took a single step back, putting space between them. “I should return to my work,” he said, though even to his own ears, his words sounded gruff.
Her brow creased, clearly puzzled by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Yes, and I should return to my reading.”
“Very good,” he murmured, already turning towards thedesk, feigning focus on the scattered documents as though the confrontation with Mr. Benson demanded his immediate attention. It was easier than facing the regret in her expression.
She quickly exited the study. The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed was stifling.
Richard exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. What in the blazes was he doing?
She had stood by him, defended him in her quiet, composed way. She had seen what others could not, and still, he had sent her away. Because of fear. Because of propriety. Because of Mr. Smith.
He stared at the closed door, torn between responsibility and something far more dangerous—hope.
And for the first time, he realized just how much he wanted her to walk back through that door.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the lace curtains of the parlor as Theodosia sat on the settee, a book from the circulating library open upon her lap. Yet, despite her best efforts, her eyes lingered on the same sentence again and again, the words blurring as her thoughts drifted elsewhere—namely, to Olivia.
She had scarcely turned another page when the door opened with a quiet creak. Olivia entered, her expression weary and her eyes red-rimmed, as though she’d fought back tears too long.
Theodosia set the book aside and asked, “How are you faring?”
“I am… doing well enough,” Olivia replied, her voice flat.
“And what, precisely,does that mean?”
A slight shrug lifted Olivia’s shoulders. “I don’t rightly know. Everything feels… too much and not enough all at once.”
Theodosia patted the cushion beside her. “Come sit with me.”
Slowly, Olivia crossed the room and lowered herself onto the settee. Her hands twisted together in her lap, betraying her restlessness.
“I was such a fool,” she whispered. “Falling in love with Lord Harwood was the most stupid thing I’ve ever done.”
“You were not a fool,” Theodosia responded.
But Olivia shook her head. “Oh, but I was. We were engaged—secretly, of course. He insisted we keep it between us for a time, and I believed him. I trusted him.” Her voice broke. “The only one who knew was our friend, Evander.”
Theodosia’s eyes widened. “You were engaged?”
Olivia nodded, her lips trembling. “And I believed every promise he whispered to me. I thought we would marry and spend our lives together, and I allowed him liberties I never should have.”
Theodosia’s stomach clenched. “What sort of liberties?”
“Nothing more than kisses,” Olivia rushed to assure her as a shadow crossed over her expression. “Lord Harwood didn’t even have the decency to tell me himself that he was marrying another. I read about it in the Society pages.”
Theodosia’s heart ached. “Oh, Olivia…”
“I married Mr. Smith to preserve what little dignity I had left,” Olivia continued, her tone tinged with bitterness. “I met him at the circulating library that same day and, for some inexplicable reason, I told him everything. He offered a solution—Gretna Green—and I was so despondent I followed him without question.”
