Page 80 of A Duchess to Unravel
The blatant worry in his eyes was too much for her to bear, and she could not help but reach for his face with both hands and cup his jaw. Alistair’s broad, straight shoulders slumped and his lashes closed the moment she touched him--as if he’d missed her touch.
“No,” she answered softly, unable to stop herself from comforting him. “It was not too much. That night, everything about it, was the purest bliss I have ever experienced.”
It was how you acted after that has hurt me so much.
Alistair pulled her into his arms, and tears pricked at Theo’s eyes as she relished in the closeness. She’d missed his embrace so much more than she’d let herself believe. Pressed so tightly to his chest, Theo took a deep breath of his scent as she slipped her hands around his neck and curled her fingers into his hair one last time.
She was not sure if the embrace had lasted a few seconds or a few hours, but when Alistair finally drew away, her entire body begged for him to come back.
Maybe I should tell him. Maybe if he knew what feelings I was struggling with we could--
“Well,” Alistair said, cutting off her thoughts, “If ye wish to attend the Masquerade again before I leave for Scotland let me know. I would be honored to take ye.”
Mental anguish blasted through Theo’s sadness. That was all he wanted. That was all he thoughtshewanted. Nothing more.
She gently untangled herself from his embrace and put one foot in the carriage, using it as a barrier between them.
“I will keep that in mind,” she forced out, feeling her tears threatening to spill. “I should go. I have sent for my friends, and I want to arrive at the house before they do.”
Alistair’s look was almost pleading as he gently bit his lower lip and nodded. He took a step toward her again. Then he stopped himself, took a step back, and buried his hands in his pockets.
“Have a pleasant journey, Theo,” he said at last. “Please, do send a messenger as soon as possible. I want to ensure that ye have arrived safely.”
Theo forced herself to nod as she swallowed the growing lump in her throat, and before Alistair could change his mind and move toward her again, she pulled herself completely into the carriage and shut the door herself. She was able to hold her breath and tears until she was sure the carriage made it to the end of the drive, then immediately began to sob.
Alistair was not a man that shed tears. Even as a boy and through the loss of his family, the concept of crying was foreign to him. Yet as he watched Theo’s carriage disappear down the drive, he felt an awful clawing at his throat. A terrible itch at his eyes. An ache that had formed the night before grew larger and heavier inside as he was left alone--the likes of which he had not experienced since his family’s death.
He cleared his throat, suddenly annoyed with how his body was reacting, and turned away from the shrinking carriage and walked back inside. In the foyer he found Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie, both looking reticent with their brows furrowed up and their hands clenched tightly before them.
“What is it?” He barked, his grief transforming more into anger by the second.
Both of his senior staff jumped and bowed to him.
“Not a thing, Your Grace,” Mrs. Mackenzie replied hurriedly. “I believe I shall go to Her Grace’s room, tidy it up myself.”
“Leave it,” Alistair commanded, and Mrs. Mackenzie froze mid-step. She gave him a worried glance, then bowed again.
“Very well, Your Grace, I shall go see my usual duties then.”
Alistair gave her a curt nod and turned to Mr. Mackenzie.
“Send me one of your staff to my office,” he commanded, “The fastest rider. I need to get a message to London.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THREE DAYS LATER
“Blast it all!” Theo shouted, flinging the paint brush away from her.
Drops of red paint flecked free from the sailing brush, landing on Theo’s face and dress.
Ophelia and Rose looked up from their canvasses, alarmed. In her seat, Ophelia leaned to her left to inspect Theo’s painting and frowned. She had been trying to teach her friends how to paint flowers, but nothing on Theo’s canvas represented such a thing.
“It is quite all right,” Ophelia offered, setting down her own brush and going to Theo. “Mistakes happen. You can just start again.”
“No, in fact I cannot!” Theo shouted, shooting out of her stool.
She looked at the strange amalgamation of dark colors on her canvas, then knocked it onto the floor. She had thought that gaining some space between her and Alistair would improve her mood, give her time to catch her breath and appreciate her newfound freedom, but it had soured instead, shifting back and forth from sadness to aggravation.
