Page 82 of Surrender to the Earl
“But that doesn’t mean I wish to act on it. Pleasure is fleeting, but pain and grief never go away, nor do regrets from impulsive actions.”
He stood still long after she was gone, reflecting on the truth of her words in his own life. He regretted so many things he’d done, wished desperately that Audrey hadn’t born the brunt of those impulsive mistakes.
But he couldn’t wish that all of the past hadn’t led him to this moment. She’d become central to his life, and that realization seemed monumental, mystifying. He didn’t want to lose her.
Robert told himself to be patient. He’d known she wouldn’t fall into his arms due to her own pride and the grief that must surely have threatened to overwhelm her. But he’d been hopingfor a spark of longing, the one that had kept him up all night, hot and unsatisfied and desperate to have more of her.
It had been there, that answering spark, even though she wished it gone.Patience.
That evening,Audrey sat in the Collins’s carriage beside Blythe, her head tilted away from Robert, who was seated across from them. She kept accidentally brushing against his big feet, his lower limbs, and just the touch made her blush and be grateful for the low lantern light.
She’d been nervous all afternoon as Molly had helped her dress, even nestling tiny pearls in her hair. But she hadn’t paid attention to her gown and didn’t even realize it might look different until Blythe had earlier given a little gasp and waxed enthusiastic about how wonderful she looked.
And then Audrey had happened to touch the bodice, and realized it had a lower décolletage than she remembered, and suddenly knew impudent Molly had been busy with her sewing needle. She’d been about to run back up to her room to change, but Blythe had insisted they’d all be late.
Thankfully, Robert hadn’t remarked on her gown, except to say that she was lovely, but she was very conscious of every draft, and kept her cloak firmly closed from the moment she’d donned it.
Why had she never noticed how much room Robert took up in the carriage?
“We’re almost there,” Blythe said at last. “I can see the house lit up within the trees. Very pretty.”
“Very countrified,” Audrey amended dryly. “I know you have seen many more grand homes in London.”
“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the care a family takes with their home and their pride being able to entertain their neighbors.”
Audrey barely kept from gaping. Was this mature young woman truly her sister? For after they arrived, Blythe remained at her side, commenting quietly on things that happened, making certain she knew every raised stair in her path, every person in the drawing room who was brought forward to be introduced.
Audrey was no fool—Robert was the main draw here, the earl returned from foreign wars a hero, so rich and powerful and handsome. And she could not miss how kind he was to everyone, how he downplayed himself in favor of learning about every guest, how he never failed to include her in each conversation.
When a young man tried to draw a resisting Blythe away to talk, Audrey had insisted she go, knowing Robert would assist her and not cause her any disappointment.
Not here in public, anyway.
He was gracious throughout the meal, making sure he sat at her side, but she’d already ruined Lady Flitcroft’s seating arrangements just by her unexpected attendance. The lady herself, so soft-spoken, seemed to sincerely regret that she hadn’t given more thought to their comfort—to the needs of a blind woman, Audrey knew, but she understood and took no offense. In fact, she was grateful. Every hostess took care of her guests’ needs, whatever they might be. She wasn’t so special, being blind. She was becoming used to the thought that people would watch her every move. Robert told her where everything was placed on her plate, as if he’d been paying close attention at each meal they’d shared.
After dinner, the guests returned to the drawing room, where the rugs had been rolled back, and the furniture pushed against the walls—or so Robert told her.
“Find me a suitable chair, Robert, and you go ask the ladies to dance. They will be thrilled.”
“I don’t wish to be gotten rid of so easily. Did you never learn to dance?”
She hesitated, feeling a momentary excitement that she quickly dismissed out of habit. “I had some formal training for a few months before my blindness, but that was all.”
Audrey hadn’t realized Blythe was nearby until her sister said, “Do not listen to her, Robert. She and Mama used to dance together all the time. I would watch them.”
“Blythe,” Audrey said in warning tones.
“Oh please, the musicians are warming up a waltz. Robert can guide you through it. Surely they waltzed at parties in India?”
“They did.” He spoke in measured tones, as if he were trying not to sound victorious.
Audrey gritted her teeth—and then truly looked into her soul. Was she going to sit in a corner asking for sympathy just because she didn’t want to risk being made a fool? Or was her concern more about being held in Robert’s arms and fighting away all the emotions and passion his very touch inspired?
She had to conquer that, and delaying it would only make everything worse.
“Very well, I shall dance,” Audrey promised coolly. “Thank you for the invitation, my lord.”
“Oh good!” Blythe said, her voice practically gleeful. “And I promised this dance to the vicar’s son. He is quite too kind and good for me, but he looks like he can dance most excellently. Have a wonderful waltz!” Her slippers tapped quickly as she moved away.
