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Trustworthy. Wonderful. The knot in his gut drew a little tighter.
The music commenced, ending their conversation and intensifying the already pitched battle of will-versus-want taking place inside Sorin. In and out the dancers twined, the pattern first separating them and then bringing them back together again and again. With every touch of Eleanor’s bare fingers against his, the inexorable pull of desire grew stronger.
As soon as the dance came to a close, Sorin bowed and gave her hand to another gentleman, excusing himself. Coming back was a mistake. Nothing had changed, save that his predicament was worse than ever.
Chapter Two
Eleanor lounged beside Caroline on the picnic blanket and watched her idly strip the petals from a wildflower. “You’ll stain your fingers,” she warned.
“Do you know, I think you may have been right about Lord Wincanton,” said her friend.
Tilting back the broad brim of her straw hat, Eleanor peered at her. “Oh? How so?”
Caroline discarded the now-barren stem and sat up to face her. “Well, most men seem to share the opinion that we females have nothing between our ears but air. They often speak to me as though they believe me incapable of intelligent thought, but not him. Of all the gentlemen present last night, excepting your cousin, of course, Lord Wincanton was the only one to treat me with respect, as though I was his equal.”
“That has always been his way,” Eleanor replied, readjusting her hat so that it provided better shade. It was still quite chilly out this early in the spring and the sunlight felt heavenly, but she could ill afford to spot her face. “He would not dream of disrespecting anyone, least of all a lady.”
A dimple appeared in her friend’s cheek. “I asked him what it was like being at sea, whether or not he’d seen any whales and, if so, were they truly as large and terrifying as it is said. I once asked the same questions of a visiting navy captain, and the man laughed and told me only that I need never worry about such things. But Lord Wincanton described for me a whale in detail and then told me about a terrible storm his ship had survived. It was dreadful! The way he described it made me feel as if I were right there with him,” she finished dreamily.
Eleanor refrained from scowling—just. He’d told her about the whale, too, but he hadn’t mentioned any storm in any of his letters. A sense of unease settled in her stomach as she looked at Caroline, marking her misty eyes, her blushing cheeks. “I take it you’ve changed your opinion of Lord Wincanton since we last spoke of him.”
Caroline’s gaze slid away, her color deepening. “I really cannot say. We spoke only briefl
y after we danced. I should need more time to come to any final conclusions about him.”
They danced? It must have been while she was occupied elsewhere. But why had he danced with Caroline? She was nowhere near his rank.
Cool reason applied itself almost at once. He’d danced with many women of all stations last night…but he hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time talking with anyone else afterward. Certainly not long enough to tell tales of storms and whales. He practically ran the instant the music stopped after dancing with me. She forced a pleasant smile to her lips. “Well, since it appears he is to remain in England—for the time being, at least—you may well have your chance.”
She watched her friend’s face carefully, but Caroline was now concentrating on weaving together long blades of grass to form a fairy basket. “That would be nice,” she said, holding up the half-finished product and smiling. “Remember when we used to make these and leave them filled with dandelion fluff for the fairies’ beds?” She bent once more, returning to her handiwork. “The real question is whether or not he plans to come to London. Though his mother is quite insistent on the matter, he’s still undecided regarding whether or not to put himself up on the block this Season.”
Eleanor sat bolt upright. “Surely you did not ask him such an impertinent question?”
“Of course not!” answered Caroline, clearly appalled that she would think such a thing.
Which meant he’d volunteered the information. Why would he tell such a thing to Caroline and not me? “And?” she prompted. “Did it seem like he was leaning in any particular direction?”
A sly smile crossed Caroline’s face. “I cannot imagine him staying behind to molder away in the countryside while everyone else frolics in London. No, I’m certain he’ll be going. Have you ever been to Holly Hall? He told me about it a little, but I cannot quite picture it in my mind.”
“Yes. I’ve been there many times,” Eleanor answered, trying to calm herself. He’d told someone—someone other than her—of his adventures abroad. He’d included details he had not shared with her, he’d talked about his estate, and worst of all, he’d mentioned the Marriage Mart. To Caroline. Surely he wasn’t planning to woo her? She looked at her friend with new eyes, seeing her fine, freckle-less skin, dark auburn hair, and blue eyes in an entirely different light. Caroline had always been very pretty. But she was also impatient, short-tempered, pouty when she didn’t get her way, and generally impulsive in her conduct—all qualities Sorin frowned upon. But still, she was quite pretty.
And she couldn’t be more wrong for him.
“Are you unwell?” asked Caroline.
Following her friend’s concerned gaze, Eleanor realized she was holding a hand to her stomach which, to be honest, was feeling a bit unsettled. She snatched it away. “I’m perfectly well. But I think perhaps I might like a cup of tea. I’m a bit chilled.” She rose.
But before she could take even one step toward the house, Caroline pointed down the hill and let out a little squeal. “Oh, look! They’ve returned. See? Here they come!” Tossing aside her half-woven basket, she leaped to her feet.
At the edge of the wood, a group of men was emerging amid a boiling sea of rowdy hunting dogs.
“Halloo there, ladies!” called Charles, grinning and waving. “Just look at this lot we’ve brought back—enough to feed the whole county for a week!” He pointed proudly at the string of dead birds dangling from a pole slung across the shoulders of two sturdy men.
Eleanor laughed and waved back, but her eyes were not on the birds. Sorin, his face lit with one of his rare smiles, strode alongside her cousin. It filled her with pleasure to see him here, back where he belonged.
“You were right—he does smile,” whispered Caroline, ruining the moment. “Quite nicely, in fact. He really is a handsome gentleman, is he not? I don’t know why I failed to see it before.” She giggled softly.
An odd impulse swept through Eleanor, an unpleasant one that made her long to shove her friend down the hillside. Head first. “Well, of course he smiles. He’s not made of stone.”
