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But then, she’d never wet herself in public. Never fallen to the floor in a shaking fit. Never awoken to find strangers and friends alike peering down at her, half of them concerned, the other half ghoulishly curious, her mind in a desperate muddle.
She did, though, know the weariness of soul that came from wrestling a problem that had no solutions.
Where to spend a day begging that would not be so far from the bad neighborhoods that simply getting there exhausted Stephen?
How to beg so her pleading came off as humble rather than disgusting?
Where to find the fortitude, once again, to face Jack Wentworth when she had only tuppence to show for a day in the cold?
The mind eventually stopped looking for solutions and resigned itself to enduring on the memory of hope. The body did without rest or sustenance, and the heart shrank until death became a dangerous friend.
“Promise me something, Rothhaven.”
He brushed cherry blossoms from her shoulders. “I am not in a position to make many promises, Althea. Where you are concerned, that pains me more than I can say.”
“I used to pick violets from the alleys,” she said. “I never stole flowers, but weeds grow where they will, and this time of year, the violets spring up everywhere. I would gather them to offer to passersby and pick a few more on my way home. I needed the violets.”
She caught his hand when he would have plucked blossoms from her hair. “Promise me you will save a little pleasure for yourself, Your Grace. That’s why you careen about the shire at dusk on that great black beast, isn’t it? You need to feel alive, to feel free, even if it’s only for a few miles as night falls. You deserve that much. As long as you take pleasure from it, don’t give it up. Don’t give up on a sliver of life lived for yourself.”
His grasp was warm, his gaze sad. Althea hadn’t cried in years, not even when Quinn had been sent away to prison, not when she’d believed him murdered by the king’s excuse for justice. Here amid old trees renewing themselves in the spring sunshine, her throat ached with unshed tears.
“I would take pleasure,” Rothhaven said, “from two boons, if you are willing to grant them to me, and then I will bid you farewell.”
“Name them.”
“First, a kiss.”
He drew her by the hand as Althea stepped close. She forced herself to go slowly rather than plunder, running a hand over Rothhaven’s chest, then treating her fingertips to the soft texture of his hair.
He closed his eyes, which she took for permission to explore his features one by one. Severe brows that would grow heavier with age. A splendid nose, firm chin, and stubborn jaw. His mien was fierce and determined;later in life his visage would shade closer to that of a raptor in winter.
He smiled as Althea brushed her touch over his mouth. That smile revealed a sweetness belied by the rest of his countenance.
Althea kissed him gently at first, but as his arms closed around her and her grip on him became desperate, the gentleness was put to flight by frustration. Why must he be so dutiful? Why must society have so many stupid rules? Why did a dead father still have the power to strangle his family’s joy?
Those questions were of no use to anybody, so Althea instead pressed herself close and gave Rothhaven every ounce of passion she possessed. She wanted him, she cared for him, and she must leave him. The last thing he needed was to become an object of curiosity, and if Althea was seen frequenting his property, others would be emboldened to violate his peace.
So she would abandon him to his stratagems, as he needed her to do. First, she’d take pleasure with him, even knowing that pleasure once past can turn to bitterness.
When Rothhaven broke the kiss, Althea was bundled against him as if the winter wind had left her desperate for warmth. She wanted to lay him down on the soft green grass and steal greater intimacies before they parted, but didn’t make that overture, confident that Rothhaven’s self-restraint would require him to reject it.
Bloody masculine honor.“You asked for two boons,” Althea said, nose pressed to Rothhaven’s chest.
His hands moved on her back, a lovely, soothing touch that nonetheless made Althea want to weep.
“When you leave here, please don’t think of me as His Grace of Rothhaven. Think of me as Lord Nathaniel Rothmere, or simply as Nathaniel. I want at least one person to know me for who I truly am.”
What a paltry, profound request. “Then I’d be simply Althea Wentworth to you, not her ladyship, not Lady Althea.”
“But you are a lady,” he said, stepping back. “You always will be.”
And you are a duke by any other name.“I would rather be your friend.”
“If you would be my friend, you must leave here and go about your affairs. We are happy in our way at Rothhaven, and I want—more than anything—for you to be happy too.” He bowed, no smile, no lingering over her hand, and then he slipped through the door, leaving Althea alone amid the fading blossoms.
Chapter Ten
Nathaniel made himself leave Althea Wentworth in the orchard, made himself walk back down the hill at a pace no servant would remark. With each step his anger grew.
