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He shook his head incredulously as if he simply couldn’t believe thatanyonewouldn’t know how to tend a fire. “Delia,” he said. “What are you going to do if you can’t get work straight away in Bradford?”
She shrugged defensively. “I am sure I shall find something. Miss Tilney is willing to help me.”
“Still,” he said, leaning towards her, “you have risked a lot to travel north to live in a place you do not know well. Why did you not secure a position somewhere in Bradford before your journey? It would have been the wisest course of action.”
Delia’s smile hardened. “I need to see my grandmother. It was an impulsive decision. But I am certain it will all turn out well in the end.”
He frowned. “The grandmother suffering from bunions,” he said in a dry voice. “Where does she live?”
“Bradford,” said Delia, forcing herself to laugh. “I already told you.”
“But where in Bradford?” he pressed. “What is her address?”
Delia quickly looked away, staring into the fire. She couldn’t remember what address Minnie had hastily scrawled on that slip of paper. She hadn’t committed it to memory. She had put it in a safe place and forgotten all about it, intending to take it out when she got to Bradford to tell the hackney driver who would take her there.
Her face burnt a deeper red. What a silly fool she had been not to commit it to memory. But there was nothing she could do about it now.
“I cannot remember,” she said, taking a deep breath and turning to him. “I have only been there once, you see. But Grandmother has written the address in a letter to me.”
“You cannot remember,” he repeated, gazing at her intently. “But you remember the general area? If you describe it to me, I will be certain to know it. I have lived my whole life in Bradford and know it like the back of my hand.”
“Why do you want to know?” she challenged, her heart beating hard.
“I am just curious,” he said, his frown deepening. “It is not such an odd question, Delia.”
Delia took another deep breath. No, it wasn’t such an odd question. But she couldn’t answer it. And the only thing to do now was to get defensive and try to deflect him, once again.
“I feel like you are interrogating me,” she said, raising her chin. “You do not wish to see me once we are in Bradford, so why do you care what area of the town I shall be residing in?”
He stirred uncomfortably on the chair. “Idocare, Delia. I told you as much.”
Delia sighed, gazing back into the fire. The deflection had worked, but unfortunately, it had just led them back to that awkward place—the fact that hedidn’twant to continue their relationship once in Bradford. What was between them was clearly just a distraction for him. A pleasant distraction, but a distraction, nonetheless. He had no desire to change or modify his life because of it.
Ambrose Hartfield wanted to have his cake and eat it too.
She should be glad of it,she thought, her heart twisting.If he did wish to see her in Bradford, it would only be another complication.Her life was hard enough. She was trying to reinvent herself as a whole new person. She didn’t need a serious relationship on top of it with someone who wasn’t privy to what she was going through, did she?
And yet, that wasexactlywhat she wanted.
How could she have been such a fool to fall in love with him?
She glanced at him. He must never suspect that she was in love with him—she could never tell him. It would just make it so much more awkward between them. She didn’t want to appear like a besotted puppy dog, begging for his love. There was no pride in that. For he would still leave her, regardless.
Suddenly, she was sick of talking about it. And thinking about it. They were stuck together in this inn for an indefinite period, and she didn’t want to keep having these pointless conversations with him about whether he may developfeelingsfor her.
“How about a game of chess?” she asked, taking a deep breath. “Since we both cannot sleep.”
He looked surprised, then gratified. He stood up. “I will see if they have a board behind the counter.”
She watched him as he found a chess set and started setting it up at a table. When it was ready, he beckoned to her. Within minutes they were so absorbed in the game that she didn’t even notice when other people entered the room until the vague noise of chatter started to permeate her consciousness.
She watched him across the table. There was a furrow of concentration on his brow as he gazed at the board, ready to make his next move. He was playing a good game, keeping her on her toes. Not that she was going to admit that to him. He might steal an advantage.
She was just about to enact her four-move strategy to end the game when she realised that he had flummoxed her. Her hand hovered uncertainly over the board before she made her move. Too late, she realised she had just moved her piece into a vulnerable position.
Their eyes locked over the board. His were shining with triumph. “Checkmate.”
“You sly dog,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I walked straight into your trap.”
