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“Are you admiring my mulishness?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “I am admiring your strength. And I am saying that if you liked everyone, and everyone liked you…Cynthia, your life would be a misery right now.”
She tried to catch his eye. They’d been talking about him, so what did he mean? She wanted to ask, but he stared hard at her fingers and did not look up.
And then he raised his eyebrows and plastered a smile on his face. “As Lady Richmond, I mean. As miserable as one could be, I’d imagine.”
The moment was past. And if he’d meant anything else by his words, she had no doubt he’d deny it. So she matched his smile. “I wouldn’t be Lady Richmond actually. I’d have married the first man my father promised me to.”
That sparked bright curiosity on his face. “Who?”
Was he surprised someone else had wanted her? If only she could shock him with the glory of the match. Unfortunately, there’d been nothing glorious about it. “Well, the first man was Sir Reginald Baylor.”
“Sir Reggie?” he yelped, and she could do nothing but laugh.
“Yes, Sir Reggie, all six skeletal feet of him. He had some very nice grazing land to offer.”
“Good Lord, you’re kidding me.”
“I wish I was. I played the complete harridan until he finally let me be. But then he sent his son around to try his chances.”
Nick choked on a sip of wine. “Not Harry?”
“Yes. Harry Baylor. Who, despite his given name, lost most of his hair before he reached his majority. He was much easier to chase off than his father though. Not much spine to that one, despite all the bones.”
“Well, you’ve been a busy bee while I’ve been gone.”
She bit her lip. “Ten years is a long time.”
“It is. And I’ll have to leave again soon.”
Silence settled over them for a few moments and filled her with that old pain. He wasn’t back. Not really.
“So,” he murmured, “we’d best talk about your plans.”
“What plans?”
“You said you would sail to America. I can only pray you mean you have family there.”
“I do. My father’s sister. She will take me in. My stepfather never found favor in her eyes.”
“No wonder. But you would need a companion for the journey. Perhaps Mrs. Pell?”
“No, she won’t go. I’ll hire a woman. I’ve thought it out.”
“It seems you have.”
“I cannot wait to see New York. My aunt’s letters…It seems a very different place than England.”
His hand was still on hers. Did he realize it, or was she as inconsequential as a blade of grass one knotted and then tossed away? She couldn’t bear that, not when his touch was sending coils of tension winding up her arm. She eased her hand away and placed it carefully in her lap so that the feelings would not slip away too quickly.
When he curled his hand into a fist, Cynthia pretended that Nick was doing the same thing.
Exhaustion lay over him like a sticky film, invading every pore. A long day of climbing and hiking after a sleepless night…and still Nick couldn’t sleep.
The day had fit together with all the cohesion of an irrational dream. First, the resurrection of Cynthia. Then the story of smugglers and buried treasure and sailing to America. He could’ve handled that. He could even have seen his way through the adventure of searching sea cliffs for hidden gold. But what had happened on that damp, windswept beach with Cynthia…That he couldn’t reconcile.
He loved women. He’d always loved women. Old or young, beautiful or homely. It wasn’t necessarily a question of sex. He loved the way they smiled and chatted and laughed. Loved to watch the wheels turn in their mind as they puzzled over a problem. He liked the smell and sound of them. The smoothness of their skin and the sharpness of a witty tongue.
