Pivoting, she turned her back so her soaked gown faced the fire.
So that she didn’t have to face Reginald.
He must have sensed it, too, because he grew quiet again and slowly rose to his feet as if not to spook her. All the while, she could do nothing but fuss over her gown and twist this way and that as if it was the most important task to do at the moment.
“Charles is a good man,” he said, almost as if they needed to be reminded.
“He is,” she agreed, though she knew with utter certainty he wasn’t as good as Reginald Payne. Otherwise, he would have written more…or asked for her earlier. War or not, she would have waited for him in England, or somewhere closer. She would have married him already if he’d asked for her.
But Charles did ask for her now, and it was good they talked of her soon-to-be husband. Maybe it would be better if they continued to do so.
Walking around the fire, all too aware of Reginald watching her every step, she grabbed her satchel, opened it up, and pulled out Charles’ bound letters.
When she glanced over, she expected Reginald to be giving her that inscrutable look again. Instead, his intense gaze was fixed on the bundle in her hand, and again, that muscle twitched in his jaw.
Chapter Seven
Reggie kept hiseyes away until he could get his emotions in check. Charles wasn’t worthy of this woman.
The man had saved his life, and, in friendship, had done nothing wrong. Except asking Reggie to deliver a letter calling off a marriage arrangement. Charles’ leg was mending, but all these years, he’d had an opportunity to tell the woman he didn’t want to marry.
Instead he’d strung her along with no contact except a few letters. And all the worse, because over the last two years Reggie had known him, Charles had thrown away all of Siân’s letters. It had been a jest to him to flash the correspondence and throw it in the nearest fire.
She had written to Charles constantly.
And now, all he could do was compare the letters she’d written to the measly ones Charles had. And though already recognizing the script, he asked anyway.
“What are those?”
“Letters your friend sent me.” She gave an apologetic smile. “Maybe this is why you are friends.”
Ten thin letters in the five years Charles had left Wales. Ten measly letters. Reggie wasn’t certain he would ever be friends with her betrothed again. And there was no comparison to the letters he’d written his family to what Charles wrote to her. His sister had received more correspondence from him in the years he was away than Siân.
“I don’t know how much we’re alike because I don’t have a betrothed to write to.”
“You don’t?” she blurted.
Was she happy he didn’t have an intended? Did he dare hope? “No betrothed or arrangement for me.”
She cleared her throat, and a blush spread across her cheeks. Oh, he hoped it wasn’t the heat of the fire that caused that color. Because…because he wanted to let this woman know how he felt. If he had an indication she might like him as well…
“They’re not much, but do you want to read them?” She looked down at the bundle in her hand, a small smile on her face before it dropped and she looked at him again. “Maybe you could jest with him a bit when we’re all together again.”
He wanted to burn the letters and punch Charles. “Best put those away. What if we have to make a run for it?”
She gave him a quick smile, and though he wanted to never talk of the letters again, he needed to correct at least one of her assumptions.
“Why do you think he and I are the same?”
Her frown was quick and fierce. “I don’t think you’re the same at all.”
His heart! There was too much promise in her looks and words. “Then why would you say—”
She threw the letters back toward the satchel. “Well, there’s not many words on there, and you tend to be quiet. So I… It was foolish to say that; you’re nothing alike.”
No, they weren’t. Hewantedthis amazing female.
He both rejoiced and hated that he was here. Charles wasn’t worthy of her, but then, maybe he wasn’t either. After all, he carried Charles’ letter and still hadn’t told her of it.
