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“Because you are not a rake. And you would never hurt the woman you love.” Elizabeth blinked to keep her tears from overflowing. She wished he had given her an immediate rejection of the idea that Abigail’s presence would make a difference. But he hadn’t.
She wondered at the pain hammering her heart. Was it just self-pity?
“Elizabeth,” he whispered.
Don’t look in his eyes, she told herself. Instead, she kept her vision strictly on his snowy cravat. “You know it’s true, Will. What we did was a…a…”
“Don’t say mistake. Because it was not that.” He tipped up her chin, forcing her to meet his soulful brown eyes.
“It was an accident. Neither of us was ready for the passion.”
“I think you’re wrong,” he whispered.
Elizabeth frowned as her stomach pitched. “I cannot do this, Will. You still love her and I have my answer. You would go with her.”
She pushed away from him and started to walk the path to the house.
“You might be wrong, Elizabeth.”
She paused in her stride but refused to look back at him. “But I might be right.”
Will sat on the bench and stared down at the small stones. Why didn’t he just give her the answer she wanted to hear? He picked up a rock and pitched it toward the stone fence. If Abigail showed up tomorrow, what would he do?
He laughed at the idea of little Abigail doing such a thing. But seriously, would he marry her? If Elizabeth wasn’t with child, could he still marry Abigail?
“No,” he whispered.
He’d had enough of Abigail’s games and manipulations. She had toyed with him for years. First telling him she had to wait until she was eighteen, then the war was the problem. After the war, she had told him that her father would never agree. But as far as Will knew, she never broached the subject with her father. And she’d never let Will talk to him about it, either.
Why did he let this go on for so long? He had wasted five years of his life waiting for something that would never happen.
Now he had the chance to turn his life around. He could be a member of Parli
ament and maybe make a difference in this country. That was something he might have only dreamed about in America. Here he was an important man. While maybe his importance was due to circumstantial reasons, he could still use the opportunity as a means to make a difference for people who didn’t have a voice.
Slowly, he stood and made his way back to the ballroom. As he stood on the edge of the dance floor, he once again searched for Elizabeth. This time, he found her speaking with Lady Cantwell.
Elizabeth looked flustered by the older woman’s conversation. He decided she definitely needed saving.
“Elizabeth, have you forgotten about our dance?” he asked as he reached their position.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Elizabeth turned to him with a look of gratitude in her green eyes. “I must apologize again for stranding you on the dance floor earlier. I felt faint.”
The other ladies surrounding them all murmured about the stale air.
When Elizabeth put her gloved hand in his, a familiar yearning crept up his arm to his chest. It felt exciting and comforting at the same time. They reached the dance floor just before the next waltz started.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I would never hurt you.”
“I know that.” She looked away from him. “Have you danced with any other women?”
He shook his head.
“You must do that immediately after our dance. Otherwise people will talk.”
“What if I don’t care if they do talk?” He tightened his grip on her hand. “What if I want to dance with you all night?” he whispered near her ear. He felt her tremble slightly and smiled.
“I will not allow it,” she said and pulled away.
