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Chapter Nine
Arabella was up and about the next morning. She and Annette agreed—no corset until her ribs were healed. So, she dressed in a comfortable gray muslin with bell sleeves. Annette arranged her hair in a low bun, creating a few loose curls to frame Arabella’s face.
She wanted to find Mr. Conolly. She had the strongest hunch that he would be found in the garden. Annette trailed after her. When they reached the terrace, Arabella could see him. He was by the amaryllis.
“Annette,” she said, her heart pounding. “Wait here?”
“Yes, My Lady.” Annette remained where she was, on the terrace.
Arabella crossed the garden, walking toward him. She kept her eyes on Mr. Conolly, seeing the moment he turned and saw her.
His eyes seemed to soften. “My Lady,” he said, bowing.
She curtsied to him. “Mr. Conolly.”
“Are you well?” he asked.
“I—I am,” she said. Now that she was about to tell him, she found herself nervous.
“Good, good,” he said, seeming distracted. He ran his fingers through his hair.
“I think about you, all of the time,” she blurted out.
He blinked at her in surprise. “Do you, My Lady?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “You know that I’m a simple barrister. There’s nothing exciting about my life.”
“I’m interested in you,” she said. “And only you.”
“Why? Especially when you could have any of the many gentlemen, all around you?”
“I’m not interested in any of them,” she explained. “They want to domesticate me. They want me to be a proper lady, and to give up my masculine pursuits.”
“And I like you, just as you are.”
“Yes,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “You seem to. Do you not?” She wanted to reach out to him, take his hand, but wasn’t sure.
He smiled. “I do, in fact.” It was exactly what she wanted to hear. “I can’t offer you much.” She reached out, taking his hand as she smiled.
“You offer me so much more than they ever could. Look me in the eye, and tell me that you feel nothing for me.”
He raised his eyes, meeting hers. Her heart was pounding in her chest. The way that he looked at her made her want him more.
She ached to be close to him—to give him everything. She had never felt this way about anyone before. It was like being lost in a storm—and wanting to be swallowed whole.
“Mr. Conolly, tell me.”
He laughed, looking down at his feet, kicking at the stone path with the toe of his boot. His eyes went to their hands, clasped tightly. When he said nothing, she stepped closer to him.
“I—” he began, but Annette called out.
“Lady Arabella! Where are you?”
She turned away from Mr. Conolly, to face her maid, standing on the terrace. Annette signed with her hands, indicating that there was someone coming. Arabella turned back to Mr. Conolly. “Think about it,” she said. “Please.”
“I doubt that I’ll be able to think of anything else,” he replied. She let go of his hand, turning away from him. As she walked toward the house, she could feel him, watching her.
