Page 92 of Better Love Next Time
She kicked a patch of groomed drive. A pathetic dose of gravel barely displaced a foot. Wriggling her foot deep in herpink silk shoe, she kicked again. Her sole skimmed the pebbles, the result more pitiful than the first.
“Blast!” Ripping off her shoe, she hacked at the stones, beating them into submission.
“Kitty.”
She whirled around at Julian’s voice, shoe raised. He leaned against a portico column, ankles crossed.
“I think you’ve killed it,” he said.
She hurled her shoe at him, striking his chest and the brandy glass nestled there. She ripped off her other shoe and missed his head by a hair. “I deserve more!”
He brushed at the brandy splattered on his coat. “Have you ever played cricket? We might have an undiscovered talent here.”
She seized a handful of gravel and flung it, showering him with rock. “And I’ll dance to your tune like a puppet no more. No more!”
“I think I’ve got the gist.”
“Good. Now leave me alone. You—you blackhearted scoundrel. Rotter. Rake.”
A lazy grin spread across his face. “You have always made me feel better than I ought.”
“Have I? My apologies.” She turned to face the dark and started walking without a destination. Notfelle, then. No, her lair. Anywhere but here. In her stockinged feet with gravel digging in her tender soles and no cloak with the bite of an early spring night. She had made better decisions.
She gained the grass. Julian’s arm whipped around her waist, pulling her close.
“Get away from me. I can’t stand you.” She elbowed him hard and swung a right, hitting his chin. She received a mere grunt for her efforts.
“What about an ‘I hate you’? That comes next, doesn’t it?”
She screwed her face when the urge to cry came over her. “This is not a joke.”
He breathed through his nose loud enough for her to hear. “Kitty, were you upset by my sister’s play on your mother’s pianoforte? Did my mother say something to upset you?”
“You upset me. Now let me go.” She wriggled in his arms without success. “Let me go!”
He strengthened his hold, her cheek smashed against his shoulder. “What do you want?” He spoke into her hair. When she didn’t answer, he bent his head to look into her eyes. “Can you tell me what you want? What you deserve? I want to hear it. Please.”
Her voice was guttural, each syllable pronounced. “I want you to let me go.”
He sighed, looking away. “Allow me to put on your shoes, and I will.”
He released her. She bit the inside of her cheek while he crouched down and like a prince, cupped her heel and slipped each shoe on her foot.
He grinned up at her, his warm hand sliding up to her ankle. “You know, you have pretty feet.”
She kicked him back to his bottom. Grabbing handfuls of her skirts, she stomped off toward the river. She’d have to cross it or walk the distance to town to cross the bridge. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, but the moonlight was weak.
“Where in hell are you going?”
Away from you. Away from her stupidity. Her small thinking and low expectations.
“Let me—listen to me, will you?”
“Write me a letter. Then I shall have the pleasure of burning it.”
He swore an oath. An errant wind attacked her shoulders. She shivered and walked on and stumbled over the edge of arabbit hole. Ahead, the river swirled black and silver. Farther south, she saw theFairybanked in reeds.
“Dearest Kitty,” he called from a distance. “Uncle William has announced my lessons at an end. He promises to secure my father’s agreement and my prize money. I have accepted a position in Southampton with Nigel Honeycutt, who promises to break my back and serve me undercooked beans and dry bread. While paying me the lowest wage in Southern England.”
