Page 28 of Sense and Suitability
“And who are you avoiding tonight, if not Mr. Potter? Mr. Marshall again?” He studied her with those blue eyes of his. “Mr. Armstrong, perhaps?”
Emme folded her arms across her chest. “You seem remarkably well informed about my associations.”
“As I said, I’ve been attempting to avoid you to keep any possible rumors from starting.” He looked away, his jaw tightening. “Not that it would matter, should someone find us now—”
The creak of the door interrupted him. Instinctively, they pressed deeper into the curtains. Emme’s shoulder brushed up against his chest, her foot colliding with his. Soundlessly, he steadied her with a palm to her waist, and her breath hitched, betraying her.
She froze.
Simon’s arm tightened for a fleeting moment, as if to reassure her, before he eased them both farther into the folds of fabric.
The quiet click of footsteps sounded across the wooden floors, nearing their hiding spot. Simon’s chest moved with his breaths against Emme’s back, soundless, the rhythm easy, in complete contrast to her clutched air.
The footsteps paused.
“Mr. Rushing!” came Aunt Bean’s familiar voice. “Ah, there you are! I’m certain my niece is elsewhere. Thomas thinks she may be enjoying a glass of lemonade.”
Emme stiffened, her breath shallow as though Mr. Rushing might hear her through the curtain. A shiver coursed through her at the thought, and Simon’s arm briefly tightened again, this time almost protectively. For an unguarded moment, she leaned back into his hold.
The footsteps retreated, and the door closed with a soft thud, leaving silence in its wake.
Neither of them moved.
Or spoke.
The tension in the air swelled to a nearly unbearable level, the unspoken questions between them louder than the music drifting from the ballroom. They were too close, and yet she had to fight the urge to turn to see his face. What was he thinking? Feeling? Surely, a rake would have taken advantage of his position at this point.
She drew in a deep breath. “Why didn’t you write to me?”
His body stiffened against hers, his response slow in coming. “I... I didn’t know what to say. Everything changed overnight.”
That wasn’t the answer of a rake. She turned to look up at him, her body much too close to his as they stood encapsulated by the curtains. “Did you think I wouldn’t understand? That I didn’t care enough to try and understand?”
He looked away, but not before she saw an expression in those eyes of... pain?
“And so you ran away in your grief to live a profligate life in Scotland or America or wherever?” She searched his profile, her stomach squeezing from the need to know the truth. “Or was it something else, Simon?”
His gaze fell to hers, a flicker of raw emotion warring across his features, before his entire expression hardened. “Your notions are quite romantic, even for a romantic sort of man.”
The chill in his tone struck her, and she stepped back, arms folding defensively.
“But you’re right, Miss Lockhart,” he continued, his words clipped,his cold gaze unswerving. “I’m sorry to state the facts so bluntly, but you seem determined to hear the truth.”
Perhaps she wasn’t as determined as she thought. She took another step away.
“There are other ladies who took precedence over you and will continue to do so.”
The words sliced through her chest. She squeezed her arms tighter, refusing to bend, to wince. Something in his eyes, in his struggle, resurrected every doubt she’d been concocting. She would not allow him such ambiguity in his answer, even if it ripped open her healing heart.
“Which ladies?”
He blinked, clearly not expecting her directness. She internally apologized to Aunt Bean. This timehemoved away from her, reaching for the curtain’s edge.
“Have you suddenly lost your desire for directness, Lord Ravenscross?” She pushed more force into her whisper, refusing to back down. “Which ladies?”
He looked away from her face again, almost as if collecting himself, and then returned his cold stare. “Let it alone, Miss Lockhart. Believe the rumors. It will be better for both of us if you do.”
He hesitated for the briefest moment, as though tethered by some invisible force. Then, barely above a whisper, he added, “Let it all alone.”
