Page 66 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
He took her hand and held it lightly. “I saw the longing in you, that day when you spoke of art and your painting. When I stopped to get the pastel sticks, I ordered a quantity of paint supplies and canvas and brushes and primer ingredients, as well as a great many other things the shop owner insisted an artist must have.”
She made a strange gasp of a sound that even she didn’t recognize.
“There’s no hindrance to your pursuit of painting any longer. In fact, it would be a shame if you did not proceed. You see people, and the world, in a different way. A better way, I think, with more clarity and compassion. I can’t wait to see what you bring to life in here.”
The workmen had opened the windows, but still, there was not enough air. The pounding in her ears, the pressure in her chest . . . it was all too much.
His mouth twisted into a half smile. “Flummoxed you. That’s one for me. Have I pulled ahead? I’ve lost count.”
She wrenched her hand from his and fled.
He caught her at the bottom of the stairs, on the second floor. Shaking her head frantically, she backed into the wall, next to a curved niche. Days ago, it had been festooned with cobwebs. Today it was immaculate and the nymph standing on the pedestal inside watched them coyly over her shoulder.
“Is it all just a game to you?” she whispered. “No more?”
“Of course it isn’t a game.” He sounded indignant. “I just wanted . . .”
His words trailed away. Why wouldn’t they? He couldn’t admit to any feelings for or about her. He didn’t want them.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” she moaned.
“Why must you do anything?” His tone was rough, but his touch, when he took her shoulders, was gentle. “Why not just say your thanks and leave it at that? What’s wrong with the way this is, right now?”
“Nothing! There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s all perfectlyright.” She stepped forward, into his embrace. Bending her head, she leaned it against his chest. “Don’t you feel it?”
He did. She could feel his heartbeat, as wild as her own. She wanted him to admit it. Craved the words like her father had craved silence.
“You don’t understand.” She tipped her head back again, to look up at him. His hands on her back warmed her. Made her brave. “I thought when I came to London, it would be different. Everyone would be new. They would meet me without bias, without the patina of my father’s death clouding their vision, without the certain knowledge of my humble cottage and threadbare pocketbook.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I thought I could come to Town, possessed of a decent bloodline and the right wardrobe, and I could at last be seen for myself. I could be judged by my wit, by knowledge and humor and the ability to bring laughter or a smile.”
He sighed. “You were doomed to disappointment, thinking such a thing.”
“So I was. It was just the same. Worse, perhaps. Nobody wanted me. People looked past me. Through me. No one saw me at all. Until you did.”
His eyes closed.
“You made them look, too, with your rescue and your dance. I was so grateful. You’d given me my chance at last.”
His grip tightened. “Until your nasty cousin stole it away.”
“Yes. But still, there was you. You look at me and yousee. You listen and youhear.” She pressed closer still, pressing her bosom against his chest and letting her hands move up across his back. “You know me like no one else does, Gabriel. And yet . . .”
He didn’t want her, either. Not really.
The awful truth hung between them. The silence stretched out, dissolving all the hopeful longing in her heart.
“My lord!”
Rapid footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Lord Whiddon!”
He stepped away, taking the reassuring warmth of his touch with him. Her hands fell to her sides.
Margie, breathing hard, reached the second floor. “My lord, there is a messenger boy downstairs. He brung you this, from Lord Stoneacre.” She held out the missive and stood, catching her breath.
Whiddon read it quickly, his eyes darting over the words. Looking up, he met her gaze. “I’m sorry.” He was, but she could see relief in his face, as well. “I have to go.”
He took a step, stopped, reached back and squeezed her hand.
And he was gone.
