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It stung that she would distrust him so without just cause. He’d shown great restraint in only kissing her. Granted, it had been her first, but still. A girl with as many sisters as she had couldn’t possibly be afraid of something so benign as a kiss. And he’d asked to court her. He had behaved with honor where many other men would not.
Somewhere along the way, he’d missed something. Something vital. If he did not find that missing piece of the puzzle, he would never be able to get close to her. And he wanted to. Very much.
STARING INTO THE hearth, Sabrina contemplated the events of the day with chagrin.
The whole of the afternoon had been spent trying to avoid Montgomery to no avail.
Dinner had been a catastrophe. Their hostess had seated her beside Fairford—and opposite Montgomery. Her shining opportunity to impress Fairford had been utterly ruined. Their discourse had been stilted and lifeless, devoid of any wit or substance. It was damned difficult to converse politely with a gentleman when another man was disassembling your gown with his eyes.
She buried her face in her hands and groaned.
When the water in her bath had cooled enough to be uncomfortable, she dried off and poured herself a large glass of mulled wine. It served to drive away the chill and warm her somewhat, but it did absolutely nothing to relax her. Nothing would bring her relief save Montgomery’s removal from this house.
She knew he slept somewhere in the opposite wing, but that mattered not. He might as well have been in the next room, as far as she was concerned.
It was going to be a long night.
A faint rustle at the door drew her attention, and she watched as something slid beneath it. The moment the messenger’s footsteps retreated, she tiptoed over and snatched up the note. She frowned. It was probably another hideous poem from Chadwick.
“I should never have come to this damned house party,” she muttered sourly as she tore off the wax and opened it. The writing jumped at her from the page:
I’ve been an ass. Please forgive me. H.
Her traitorous heart pounded as she refolded it. Padding to the desk, she picked up a quill, hesitating, uncertain whether to respond or to simply ignore the communication.
Nib touched paper.
Forgiven. Now, I beg you to leave me alone! S.
Half an hour later, she still lay awake, unable to sleep after having sent her reply. A soft knock startled her from her reverie. Flinging off the coverlet, she rushed across the room, hoping to catch the messenger and tell him to bear the letter back to its author unopened. She jerked open the door and gasped in surprise.
“May I come in?” asked Montgomery.
“Did you not read my note? No.”
“Sabri—”
“No!” She tried to close the door, but his foot was wedged in the opening.
“Sabrina, I must speak with you.”
“Do you think I’ve forgotten what happened the last time you managed to get me alone?” she hissed, pushing against the door in vain.
“I swear I shall not lay a hand upon you. Upon my honor.”
She snorted, unable to contain her censure. “What honor?”
“I wish only to speak with you, and then I shall trouble you no more this night. You have my word.”
After a moment, she reluctantly stepped aside, allowing him to slip past. She followed, deliberately leaving the door unlocked. As long as he didn’t get between her and that door, she was safe. Shivering, she moved to the fire’s warmth. “Have your say, then, and begone,” she commanded.
With a strangled curse, he strode over to her bed and yanked off the heavy down quilt. Coming back, he held it out to her. When she made no move to take it, he shook it, ignoring her maidenly squeak of fright. “Take it—or I won’t be responsible for what happens.”
The shriek she’d been preparing to release died in her throat, suffocated by mortification. Snatching the blanket, she quickly pulled it around herself, grateful for the warmth as well as the concealment it provided.
With a sigh, he sank into one of the chairs before the hearth, gesturing for her to do the same.
She perched on the very edge of the seat opposite him and w
