Why would he do that? Did he have some affinity toward her?
A certain fluttering too near her heart echoed that she was having some affinity towardhim.
What would happen when their journey ended? He was Charles’ friend; it was possible she would see him again. Would her feelings for him go away or grow? Would this become just like the ghost’s story she was to tell?
She pulled a corner of her gown and lifted it closer to the fire. Maybe if she continued this, she’d be dry by the time the rain ended. If they survived, and didn’t run screaming out of the shelter.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Siân.”
There it was again. That familiarity she was beginning to crave. Maybe if she told the story, it would be a distraction.
Shaking the fabric a bit, she said, “There were two friends, closer than brothers in that they did everything together. One of the men fell in love with a woman, and by most accounts, she loved only him.”
“By other accounts?” he asked.
She dropped the fabric. “By other accounts, she loved the other, but he was poor and had no land. Her family wouldn’t have wanted it.”
Reginald, for that was who he was to her, ran his hand over his mouth and looked away.
Siân would give anything to know what he was thinking. Was he comparing his friendship with Charles? Perhaps it was her own growing attraction wanting to see something that wasn’t there. Maybe he stared at her so intently because her hair was sticking up.
“What happened?” Reginald turned his gaze back to hers. She wished the fire was larger, or the sun brighter, anything to see what was in his expression. Everything about him seemed relaxed—his arms were again leaning on his bent knees, and his breathing was even—but she was sensing some tension in him.
“Is there anyone behind me?” she teased.
Never looking away from her, he slowly shook his head.
She felt her own need not to look away. And though neither of them moved, the feeling of closeness, of…connection grew. She couldn’t be imagining this, could she?
“That’s good.” She turned her head to break the connection. The room looked much like it always had, which was good, since there were no ghosts. Yet.
She glanced back at Reginald, then looked away. This next bit of the story seemed altogether too personal.
“Her husband had suspicions she wasn’t faithful.” She gathered another bit of damp hem and held it to the fire. “To woo her back, he started with lavish presents, then this grand home, but later, he turned to violence.”
Another muscle twitched in his jaw, and she forged on.
“She denied any allegations, but it did no good. He pushed her down the staircase, and her neck snapped. Crazed, he took his own life, and this house was left to ruin.”
Reginald tilted his head. “You believe she stayed faithful.”
There wasn’t a question, because she knew what family meant. “Since my own upcoming marriage is based on land acquisition, I can understand it. And since her ghost is rather angry, I do believe it.”
“What happened to the other man?” he said. “Where did he go?”
She shook out the hem and let it drop. “He left the village after a year. He never married nor encouraged it. I don’t know what happened to him after that.”
“You want to, though.”
She gathered more of her damp hem, but didn’t lift it to the flames. She very much wanted to know what happened to the man who’d loved and lost, but it was hundreds of years ago, so there was little point in wishing otherwise.
He hummed under his breath. “You believe they loved each other.”
She gave a curt nod, but this time she didn’t look away, and neither did he. There was something pulling them together, she could almost touch it, and he felt it too, if his flexing his hands as if to grip something was any indication.
It was too much. Standing, Siân brushed at her gown and fluffed it out. The back of it was hopeless. She felt something insideherwas hopeless. Where had this all come from? She was fine at the estate…
Maybe not fine. After all, they had little profit, her sister was desperate to turn matters around, and her husband was unfaithful. Oh, that she could help them all! Wasn’t Charles supposed to be that help? And yet she was more interested in Reginald than her betrothed or a ghost.
