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“You had better get ready for supper,” he whispered, though he made no move to release her from his arms.
She pushed away from him though. “We did not discuss how you ended up with my letter, though.”
“Someone left it on my desk,” he told her. “I thought perhaps a maid.”
“I think it was my uncle,” she lamented. “My maid said she passed it to him, as he said he was posting other letters.”
“He has not seen you since you returned, then?”
She shook her head.
He rubbed her arm reassuringly. “If he has seen it, then I will discuss it with him. Do not worry, if I can, I will try to pass it off. I suggest you do the same. Does he know your hand well enough to say you wrote it?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ve not had the occasion to write to him often. That being said, he may have seen my writing about our home.”
“Do not worry just yet,” he told her. “Not until he gives you reason to.”
Shuddering, she said, “I’d hate to think what he would do if he knew it was true, or worse, what has happened here. One day, I will have to reconcile the fact that I have been with a man that was not my future husband and have to bear that lie.”
Michael was quiet, his hand still stroking up and down her arm slowly. His thoughtful expression made her pause.
“To think that you might explain to any other man -” he started but stopped.
She watched him for a moment, waiting for him to continue, but he shook his head.
“We had better get ready for supper. The later we are here, the more likely it is that someone will come searching for us. You had better go back up to your rooms using the back stair, so that no one else sees you.”
She started to turn, feeling dismissed, but unsatisfied with his cutoff statements, she asked him. “Does it bother you, then, to think that I will be married to someone else by the end of the Season?”
“After the end of the Season,” he corrected quickly.
She raised her eyebrow.
“Just a month away,” she pointed out.
His expression grew blank. “I cannot entertain such a thought.”
