She started when I reached for her hand and captured it with my own, her fingers cold within my grip. Her eyes widened as I curled my fingers around hers. I was certain I did not imagine how she leaned into me. Encouraged by her response, I drew closer to her.
“I have thought of nothing else.”
She winced even though she made no move to withdraw her hand. “Rafe, no. There is no need to apologize again for the ride.”
I winced. The military hadn’t turned me into a poet, despite reading Shakespeare. I couldn’t bungle things worse than I already had.
“Please, allow me to state how I truly feel—”
“I can only surmise that you will regret marrying a woman of diminished status. What will the ton say when you march to the altar with a lowly vicar’s daughter?” she interrupted, studiously examining our clasped hands.
“I don’t give a blaze what the ton thinks. Surely you’ve heard what they think of me,” I answered, wishing I could make her understand how deeply I cared for her.
She pulled her hand free, her anguished eyes meeting mine. “I don’t want to be a burden, Rafe. I’ve always felt like one. I don’t want to be forgotten on a shelf. I can’t marry a man who will eventually come to resent me and throw himself into his work while I wither.”
I placed my hands on her shoulders, drawing her closer as understanding dawned. Her father, kind yet oblivious, had never attended to her needs. And her brother? Doubtful. No wonder she didn’t trust anyone to cherish her when her experiences had been nothing but scraps tossed under the table.
“Listen to me, Bridget. Iseeyou. From the moment I nearly collided with you on that awful, fateful road, you captured my attention. Then you commanded my respect and earned my friendship. I would be a fool not to—”
The door swung open, and Mr. Harrington and the vicar entered the drawing room. Mr. Harrington’s smile faltered when he saw me clasping Bridget. She pulled free, her cheeks pink.
He bowed while clearing his throat. “Lord Hawthorn, how delightful to see you. I hope I interrupted nothing important.”
“No,” Bridget breathed.
“Yes,” I answered firmly.
Our opposing answers uttered at the same time caused us both to search each other’s face for some hint of emotion.
Finally, I nodded, feeling flummoxed at being interrupted so suddenly. She backtracked until she nearly hit the fireplace mantel, putting as much distance between us as she could, as if my presence pained her.
She did not want me.
Struggling to regain my bearings, I pivoted to the men. “I came to collect your items and take them to my safe with your permission. I visited Mr. Perry’s field this morning and am relieved to report that I have seen no sign of tampering at the dig. There has been no word from the constable regarding our stranger, but as a precaution, Mr. Spencer will continue guarding the site overnight.”
Vicar Littleton’s narrowing gaze lingered on me while I heated under the collar. “How kind of you.”
Bridget pulled out a desk drawer and removed a long tin, then opened it to reveal a gold ring and the ivory doll. When she handed me the box, her fingers brushed against mine.
“Mr. Harrington has agreed to purchase the ring from Mr. Perry on behalf of the Society of Antiquaries, who will donate it to the museum.”
Despite being nestled within a piece of cotton, the ruby glowed with a hidden fire.
“I will guard it with my life,” I promised her, even though I wanted to say so much more. But I would wait. I would prove to her that I would not disappear or forget her. I would be her friend, if that was all she chose.
Her faint smile was reward enough.
I had just mounted Chaucer and was about to return home when Reverend Littleton rushed out of the parsonage. My heart sank at his determined approach as he ate up the distance of the stone path lined with daisies and bluebells.
“My lord, a moment in privacy, if you will.” He came to a halt beside Chaucer, his hands behind his back as if prepared to deliver a sermon. “I am not a blind man, and as any good father must inquire, what exactly are your intentions toward my daughter?”
I had wrestled with that burning question all night long, my twisted sheets about my limbs a testament to how agonizingly elusive sleep had proven.
“My regard is of the utmost for your daughter, sir. And for you, as well. And if I thought she would accept my suit, I would press for more. But as things stand, your daughter has rejected me.” A harsh laugh rumbled through me. “To be perfectly honest, I would marry her. Gladly, with your blessing, should you care to give it.”
He regarded me for a long moment. “Indeed. I have often found that patience is key, Lord Hawthorn. Patience and a bit of tender wooing. As you have well perceived since our initial visit, Bridget has a fancy or two tucked behind that practical mind of hers. A woman wants to be fought for. Cherished. If you couldtake that ridge at Bussaco, I believe you are more than up for the challenge of romance.”
It was my turn for my cheeks to flame to life. Of all the advice to get from a vicar! Part of me feared a Song of Solomon reference would soon follow since he was so enamored with Ecclesiastes.
