Page 10 of Hush Darling
“Look at you. You’re completely?—”
“Completely what, Peter? I’ll remind you you’re in my house. Choose your words carefully.”
“Because you’re so delicate you might get offended? Please. Call your shock whatever you want, but your innocence is showing. They’re just having fun. Haven’t you ever slipped into the shadows with a man just for the thrill of it?”
The burn on her cheeks intensified, and he drew back, a knowing understanding flashing in his eyes.
“You haven’t? Not even once?”
“That’s none of your business!”
That quickly, he lost interest in her personal escapades, which were few and far between, and shrugged with indifference. “You’re not gonna tell on the poor girl, are you?”
“I would never!” Though she had initially thought this was something her parents should know, she would hate to see Liza fired. Although she was on the payroll, she was also something Wendy thought of as a confidante and a friend.
Gah! How pathetic to think of the maid as one of her closest friends.
She glanced back at the window, but from her current position, she could only make out the lamplight in the mist. Perhaps that was the luxury of a lower social class—the women seemed to have complete autonomy and the freedom to do as they pleased. Wendy had no idea who Liza answered to when off the clock. For all she knew, the girl lived alone.
If they were friends, Wendy wasn’t a very good one. She settled into one of the button-back chairs, feigning nonchalance while every nerve in her body seemed to vibrate with a sense of impending uncertainty.
Seeing Liza had charged the air with carnal energy. Peter glanced around the room. Each time his gaze settled on the spine of a book, or he touched a unique trinket tied to a personal Darling family anecdote, she felt as if he were touching her in secret places.
His cavalier persona filled her with uncertainty. She didn’t feel unsafe around him, but she also didn’t trust his motives. Something about his careless demeanor mocked her family’s position despite his parents having six times the fortune of hers.
Everything about him screamed wealth, yet he always appeared somehow tousled and half put together, as though he threw his clothes on in a rush. Which made her wonder why she assumed his clothes were off in the first place.
Drawing in a slow, deep breath, she tried to trace his earthy scent. Did she sense a touch of women’s perfume?
She wished he would say something, but he seemed to forget she was there. He pulled a book down from the shelf and paged through the chapters. Dropping into a wingback chair, his long legs landed in a sloppy tangle as if he were bored and forced to wait there.
She tried to think of something clever to say but worried she might be a disturbance. What did men and women talk about on dates? She was utterly clueless but knew enough to know that she was not impressing him. Did she even want to impress him? She certainly didn’t want him to leave with the impression that she was an immature child.
In his silence, the house faintly creaked as it settled. The lingering trail of her mother’s lavender perfume tinged the air, and the soft prattle of rain tickled the dry leaves that covered the earth. It was as though time had frozen, and the muffled sounds of London’s typically noisy streets were miles away.
Peter threw down the book he held and sprung to his feet as if catapulted from the wing-back chair and prepared to rush off to his next adventure.
“Wine?” she blurted, strangely compelled to keep him there.
He stilled and shrugged. “Sure.”
Breezing past her, he helped himself to her father’s collection. Uncorking the crystal decanter at the bar, he sniffed it. That was her mother’s personal favorite. Wendy swallowed, hoping he didn’t take enough for her parents to notice.
Liquid trickled into a glass, breaking the silence as the dry scent of flowers and fruit filled the air. He poured with the familiarity of someone who had indulged many times before.
Walking a glass across the room, he slid the long stem into her hand. “For you.”
“Thanks.” She watched his fingers and mimicked his hold of the cup.
Funny how each room could hold such a different feeling in one house. While the nursery was a familiar place of safety and innocence, her father’s study was the opposite. She typically only came in here when her father gave her a lecture.
Peter returned to her father’s chair—a throne of authority in this house—and raised his glass. “Drink.”
She sipped, and a warm, calm bloomed in her chest. The flavor was rather pleasant, softening her posture when it hit her belly. Who knew wine could have such an immediate effect on a person’s tension? No wonder her mother enjoyed her evening glass so much.
Peter studied her, sipping his wine in a silent challenge, and she matched him swallow for swallow. They played this game for several minutes, and by the time her glass was half empty, her worries seemed small and foolish—little laughable wisps of nothing. So she giggled.
“Something funny?”
