Page 17 of Pursued Beyond Treachery
Why could he not just spit it out? He was questioning her choices. It was evident in his cool demeanor and the way he would not meet her gaze.
He marched toward her bedroom door, not even asking where she meant to take her luggage. What if she’d wanted it somewhere else? She didn’t of course, but how would he know where she wanted it?
Because that is the only logical place to take it.
She was being ridiculous. Taking her rushing thoughts firmly in hand, she scurried in to open the door. Frustration only brought her discontent. John did not mean to hurt her. No need to be so sensitive.
He was being his usual helpful self. It was one of the many things she liked about him. That, and his attentiveness to her family. He’d been the only one who had remained a constant support through her mother’s illness and after during their period of mourning. More than once he’d been a listening ear when she’d had none, even if she talked of nothing but her siblings’ struggles.
“I did not want to be a bother to the staff,” she finally said. “They are overworked as it is, especially since Mrs. Crabtree took her leave two days ago.”
He stopped midway through the door and stared at her. “Mrs. Crabtree left?”
“She did. Said taking care of boys as devious as my brothers was only meant for saints, and she did not pretend to any such delusions of grandeur.”
The corner of John’s mouth tipped up, but he said nothing as he deposited the trunk at the foot of her bed. Retracing his steps, he passed her still holding the sturdy wood door.
“For London?” He tipped his head toward her room.
She followed his line of thought seamlessly, knowing he’d question her need for the trunk. To anyone else, his short two-word sentences would probably seem completely disjointed, but she was used to filling in the blanks.
If only she didn’t have to. If only he’d talk to her like he used to before she left the schoolroom. Then perhaps she could share with him her joy at finally having a season, one her father probably could never have afforded—not after he’d spent so much on doctors for Mama.
Or perhaps they could discuss how torn she was at leaving her siblings when they looked up to her almost as a mother figure. She tried to convince herself that going to London would help her family, but deep in her heart she worried Michael would never understand. Already he’d started to fuss when conversation turned to her intended trip, his earlier excitement vanishing when he realized how long she’d be gone.
But what she really wished to discuss with John was the sensations she’d experienced in his embrace. Had he felt them too? He certainly did not seem quite as affected, at least not now. His breath had been unsteady. Was that a good or bad sign?
John rubbed his left hand along his trouser leg. Impatience? Ah yes, she’d forgotten to answer his question.
“I know we will not set out for another three weeks, but it is better to be prepared.”
He nodded. “And you are… excited.”
It was a statement, not a question. Perhaps he understood her as much as she did him.
“I am. Aren’t you?”
His nose scrunched as if the question smelled distasteful. One hand rubbed the back of his neck as he smoothed his expression.
So he did not hold her same enthusiasm.
“I am late for my meeting with your father.”
Embarrassment colored her cheeks. She’d not meant to keep him from his appointment. “My apologies.”
“Do not apologize. I am… that is… it was my p-pleasure to h-help.” A small smile pulled at his lips.
She smiled broadly back.
He cleared his throat and made his way to her father’s study.
As his long legs strode down the hall, she took stock of his fine form. The season lay in front of her; an opportunity to meet and marry the man of her dreams, but over the last two years John had begun to fill the role of long-hoped-for suitor.
As a little girl she’d looked up to him as one did a brother. Their relationship had naturally moved to a friendship of mutual comfort as they spent many of his holidays from Harrow playing as youth did. But the strain between them now pulled at her heart.
It was her fault. If only she could take hold of her attraction to him, but his embrace had sent her dancing onto a ballroom of puffy white clouds, her heart as light as air.
Like a large foot in her way, reality sent her tumbling from her dance floor in the sky. John viewed her like he would a beloved little sister, not a woman full grown approaching her twentieth year.
