AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Bradstone stepped in. “Your Grace, Miss Nora has returned.”
The fierce raging anger and jealousy came roaring back, so hot he had to breathe deep before he could trust himself to speak. “Send her to me, please.”
Bradstone nodded and left, shutting the door behind him. Arthur clenched his hands at his side.
Let the fires burn as they would, but he would have his answers from her, one way or another.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Nora trudged wearily through the manor, grimacing at the raw, gritty feeling of her eyes. She longed for a wash and her bed, but she couldn’t seek them just yet.
She knew quite well how discourteous it had been, leaving in the middle of dinner like that, and all the more so since it had been a dinner hosted in her honor and by her prospective kin-by-marriage. She owed them some explanation, though she was not yet entirely sure what form that explanation should take.
On one hand, the habit of caution and silence was still strong. It would be easy to make some excuse about a brief stomach malady or an injury to placate the Dowager and the Duke, a fright that seemed more serious than it had truly been.
On the other hand, she longed to tell them the truth. The only thing that kept her going was the knowledge that there was a good chance that Lydia would be well. It had been a long, terrifying night for both her and Scarlett, but with the cold baths and constant, loving attention, the fever had finally broken less than an hour past. Lydia had fallen into a natural-seeming sleep, and Scarlett had promised to watch her while Nora attended to her business at the Bedford estate.
Even so, there was a chance the terrible fever would return or other ailments would appear. Without the services of a physician and attentive care, there was a chance that another fever, or some other ailment, might be too much for the child to recover from.
The weight of the Bedford title could ensure that Lydia had the best of care if her health took a turn for the worse again.
She was still considering the matter when Bradstone returned and directed her toward the private drawing room.
She made her way up the stairs with weary, plodding steps. She knew she must look a sight, that she ought to have freshened up before coming, but she had neither the energy nor the desire. She had no interest in anything save giving her excuses and seeking the comfort of a bed. Or a couch. Or a nice comfortable section of floor, perhaps with a bit of a rug.
The drawing room door loomed in front of her, the oaken paneling dark in the early morning dimness. She sighed, straightened her back, set her shoulders, and tapped twice before entering.
She had expected, when Bradstone told her Arthur had been waiting for her to return, that he would be worried. That he might be distressed, confused, perhaps even a trifle angry at her abrupt departure the night before.
She was not prepared for the half-wild, half-dressed picture of barely contained and burning fury that confronted her. Hard eyes like chips of flame bored into her, set in a face that might be carved in stone, an image of the wrathful Greek gods of old. It was all she could do not to take a step back, or turn and flee the room, perhaps the manor, entirely.
Tension boiled between them, her heart pounding frantically. She was so shocked she nearly missed the low, snarled words when he finally spoke.
“Who is he?”
“What?” She could not make sense of the words, her sleepless mind and weary nerves too worn to convey the proper meaning.
Arthur’s jaw clenched, and he took a sharp step toward her, like a hunting cat, before he checked himself. “Who is he?”
She blinked again. “Who is… I do not understand.”
A bitter, cutting smile crashed over his face. “Who is he, the lover you left so abruptly to rendezvous with last night? Whom you were so eager to meet you could not even give me the courtesy of waiting until the meal was over?”
It took the words longer than they should have to come together in her mind, but when they did, fury and hurt roared through her, setting her afire with incredulous anger and banishing any hint of weariness.
How dare he?
Her hands clenched into fists, her own lip curling into a snarl fully as sharp as his. “Thatis what you think of me? What you think I was doing? You view others through the glass of your own faults too muchYour Grace.” She spat the last words.
The sound he made was a growl as he lurched forward and made as if to seize her shoulders and shake her. She moved out of the way, and he stopped short, hands clenching and unclenching. “Do not dare to turn this back on me. I am not the one who left last night with scarce a word.”
“I told you…”
“That a member of your family was ill, yes.” His laughter was sharp as broken glass. “Lovesick, was it? Or am I to believe these words of some family that you will not even introduce me to? Do not play me for a fool.”
“Do not act the part of one!” She snapped out the words.
“And how shall I act when you give me no word, no explanation? Only hints and secrets. Why should I not think you have a lover?”
