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Nick cleared his throat. “Was I yelling? I apologize.” As she watched, his face slowly turned red. “Cynthia,” he said, “we can’t be lovers.”
Her throat tightened. Her heart tripped. “I suppose not. I’m soiled goods now.”
His horror wasn’t feigned. She watched it fill his eyes before it took over the rest of his face. “That’s not what I meant. Not at all.”
“Then what?”
“I…” His flush deepened, almost as if he were embarrassed. “You’re my friend, Cyn. I can’t do that with you. You’re my friend.”
She nodded. That was true. It felt true. But she wanted more. “I know. I just wanted to ask more for us. Just for a little while. Just until we both have to go.”
Pain flashed over his face like a quick flutter of dark wings. “I’d like more too,” he whispered. “But I can’t. Not with you.”
The pain was hers this time, a flutter of wings, only there seemed to be thousands of those tiny dark birds circling her chest, flying faster and faster. “Not me,” she murmured, nodding.
She was not one of those women. Those London women who knew how to dance and flirt and seduce handsome men. She was the kind of woman a man could befriend. She always had been, hadn’t she?
She’d fought him ’til now, because she’d been angry and frustrated and a little afraid. But this was something worse, and she couldn’t make herself pretend to fight him.
They’re not like you, he’d said. She glanced down at her simple country dress and thought of lace and perfume and powder and delicate slippers that would prove useless weapons if thrown at a man’s head. Though it nearly killed her,
Cynthia tried to smile. “I understand.”
Nick lifted his eyes from the floor and shook his head. “No, you couldn’t possibly understand, Cyn. And I wouldn’t want you to.”
As if he were bidding her farewell, Nick lifted his hand and left her alone.
She forced her feet to carry her to the hall door.
Mrs. Pell would need help with dinner and she was good for that, at least.
Chapter 12
“I have it,” a deep voice barked, inserting itself into her dream. A nude Nicholas stood in the lapping waves of the sea and smiled at a beautiful woman clothed in silver tulle. The blond lady giggled and fluttered a lace fan against her bosom. When the sunlight caught the iridescent spark of pearl on the handle of the fan, the reflection jumped against Nick’s chest.
The lady reached out to trail a polished fingernail over his skin, tracing the dancing lights.
Didn’t she know her dress was being ruined in the salt water?
“Cynthia,” Nick said, turning back to her. He caught the lady’s hand and pulled it up to his mouth to kiss her fingers. “Wake up.”
He wanted Cyn to leave them alone, apparently. But she’d be damned if she’d let this woman have him.
“Get up, woman!” A hand grabbed her and yanked her off the beach.
Cynthia sat up and opened her eyes to find Nick jerking his chin out of the way of her forehead.
“I have it.” He waved the journal in front of her face.
“I know,” she grumbled. “I gave it to you.” She pushed his hand away and collapsed back into the bed. She’d tossed and turned for hours last night and wasn’t prepared to face the man who’d caused her turmoil.
“You’ve been searching in the wrong place, Cyn.”
She burrowed her head beneath the heavy weight of the pillow.
“Are you even listening?” Though she wrapped her hands around the edges of the pillow in anticipation, Nick still pulled it from her grasp and tossed it to the floor. “You’re searching in the wrong place.”
“What time is it?”
