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But the voice was not one he intended to listen to. He only had to remember his father and mother, and how they had been carelessly swept away into a life of deep unhappiness.
Alistair shook his head. He stood up, placing her on her feet at his side. She wobbled unsteadily and he held her until she had her balance. She was soft and he ached to pull her back into his arms, but he forc
ed himself once more to let her go and then he stepped back. Away from her. Putting some distance between them in case he relapsed.
“Blame my principles,” he said with a wry smile. “I make it a practice never to seduce innocents. Especially innocents who are my friends.”
She blinked at him owlishly and then she seemed to shake off her lethargy. She turned away, reaching to smooth her hair, her hands trembling. Of course she would hate him now for seeing her so vulnerable and he didn’t blame her. She had offered him something very precious and he had turned her down.
“I’m not ungrateful,” he began, “I am honoured that you thought that I . . . that you . . .” He stopped as he realised that he was only making it worse.
“Please,” she said quietly. “Don’t say any more.”
He thought there was more he should say, but perhaps she was right. In time they might put this behind them. So instead he went to the window, stooping to peer out. “The rain has stopped,” he said in a false hearty voice. “We’d better start for home.”
“Of course.” She smiled a strained little smile. “I’ll fetch my things.”
And she went out and closed the door quietly behind her.
Alistair sighed and rested his forehead against the cold pane of the window. You could have handled that better, Lieutenant McKay, he said to himself. Now she’ll hate you. But better hatred than a ruined young woman to worry about when he sailed away. Clarissa had her life before her and although she probably didn’t realise it now she would later and be grateful to him for sparing her such complications.
Alistair had no doubts about what sort of husband he would make, even if he didn’t have his parents as role models—he would be away at sea almost all the time and his wife would be left alone, never knowing if he would return or if she would never see him again. In his experience naval widows were usually impoverished, the authorities giving them barely enough to keep heart and soul together. No, he didn’t want that for Clarissa.
She was much better off without him.
CHAPTER TEN
Clarissa was finding it very difficult to look at him. She felt like a silly fool; an innocent fool. He’d rejected her. Twice. Wasn’t that enough for her? And yet, despite her feelings of anger and humiliation, she knew she still wanted him.
Her heart ached in a way it never had before. Even in her worst moments with her father, or Mr. Marly, she had never felt like this.
She wanted Alistair despite the fact that he did not want her and nothing he said or did could change that.
Did that make her even more of a fool? She supposed it did and yet . . . she loved him. And it wasn’t a silly girly sort of love either, it was a strong womanly love, the sort of love that wanted to be with him, to lay with him beside her, to share in all the trials and tribulations she knew would come to them, and not care.
But she could see it was impossible to tell him that.
Alistair had made up his mind. He was going to do the gentlemanly thing, he was going to spare her from making ‘a terrible mistake’ and nothing she said or did was going to change his mind.
She was his friend; that was what he’d said.
The air was chill now that the rain had stopped and she pulled her shawl closer about her with a shiver—it was Annie’s shawl really but the kind girl had pressed it into her hands as they were leaving, insisting it was too cold to be without it. The sky was clear though, and the stars beamed brightly down upon them as Alistair drove the carriage through the night toward Lyme.
They were together and yet she had never felt so alone.
“Clarissa?”
She was tempted to ignore him, pretend not to hear him, or tell him to be quiet, like the children at school. The thought made her smile, and smiling made her feel a little better.
“Clarissa, I am so sorry. I know I handled things badly, and believe me I would have wanted nothing more than to be with you tonight, but . . . surely you can see how impossible it is?”
Clarissa shrugged her shoulder.
When Annie had given her the shawl, Clarissa had seen from the expression on her face that she had seen them kissing. Would she tell? Probably. Gossip would spread to Lyme in no time at all. It wouldn’t have made much difference if Alistair had spent the night in bed with her, because the story would become more lurid with each mile it travelled.
Although she had done nothing so very bad she knew she would still be tarred with the brush of one who had.
“Are we still friends?” he said quietly, and she felt his eyes on her. “Will you forgive me?”
