Page 27 of A Convenient Fiction

It was better this way, she thought as she rummaged in her reticule for a handkerchief. The cottage was no place for tears or expressions of hopelessness. There was enough of that from Teddy and Aunt Charlotte. If they knew—if they even suspected—that she was despairing, it would send the rest of the household into an uproar.

She dried her tears with her handkerchief, blew her nose, and raised her head.

And then she froze.

Mr. Archer sat on a boulder nearby, her valise on the ground at his side. His head was bare and his coat unbuttoned. He looked as though he’d been there for a long while.

A crashing wave of embarrassment rendered her speechless. She could think of nothing to say. Nothing to excuse her appalling lack of self-control. And that he should witness it! No one had ever seen her weep to such a degree before. No one in her family, nor of her acquaintance, would have believed her capable of doing so.

But now…

She could only look at Mr. Archer through swollen eyes, mortified at the thought of how thoroughly wretched she must appear.

As for Mr. Archer, he uttered not a word as he rose and went to the edge of the pond. He extracted a folded white linen handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat, and crouching down, dipped it into the water and wrung it out. When he’d finished, he came back to where she knelt in the grass, and sank down on his haunches in front of her.

Laura’s heart hammered as he took her chin in his fingers and tipped her face up to his.

He held the wet handkerchief at the ready. “If I may?”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.

Mr. Archer didn’t wait for her permission. He didn’t seem to require it.

Her eyes fell closed as he blotted her face. His touch was soft and careful. Almost tender. She couldn’t fathom how such a big man could be so gentle. But she had no will to ponder it. She was too tired. Too weary in heart and soul.

The cool water was a relief on her hot eyes and cheeks. A breath shuddered out of her. She didn’t know how long she’d been holding it.

“There,” Mr. Archer murmured. “That’s better.”

As if she were a small child and not a woman grown! But she couldn’t find it in herself to be offended. Rather the reverse. The husky, soothing tone of his deep voice worked its way into the center of her being. Like the vibration of a finely made cello, striking a pleasant, echoing hum through her veins.

She raised a hand to her face to take charge of the handkerchief. Her fingers brushed his. “Let me—”

“Of course.” He relinquished his hold of it.

Laura finished mopping her face, holding the wet handkerchief over her eyes for another long while. She felt Mr. Archer draw back. Heard him get to his feet and move away from her. When she at last let the handkerchief drop, he was seated once again on the boulder, his back resting against the curving tree trunk behind him.

“The vicar’s horse—” she began, her voice the veriest croak.

“Grazing happily near the road.”

“You can’t leave him there.”

“He’s quite safe, Miss Hayes.”

She inhaled a steadying breath, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Mr. Archer, I—”

“We needn’t speak of it.”

“But surely you—” She broke off. The last thing she wanted was to start another onslaught of tears. “You shouldn’t have followed me here.”

Mr. Archer regarded her from beneath lowered brows. His mouth was set in a pensive frown. “No. I most definitely shouldn’t have.”

Truer words Alex had never spoken. Indeed, he had the unsettling premonition that he would come to regret having gone into the woods after Laura Hayes. That doing so had been one of those impulsive decisions that would cast a shadow over the whole of his life.

But what else could he have done?

As she’d plunged into the woods, her smoke-blue eyes brimming with tears, he’d seen no other choice but to go after her. It had, in that moment, seemed a gentlemanly imperative. Not only because she’d forgotten her valise—though that had certainly provided a rational excuse. Not because she was beautiful and fascinating and vexing as all hell. Not because he cared. He didn’t care. He couldn’t. Not about her.