Page 34 of The Notorious Lord Knightly
He dipped his head slightly, his lips twitching. “I didn’t mean quite that near.”
She released a small laugh, then abruptly cut it off. She wasn’t going to allow him to lighten her heart or charm her. “I noted your surprise when Ari gushed her love for you, but you should know she tells everyone she loves them. It’s a child’s openness and acceptance, I think.”
“Would that adults were the same.”
“I wish I could spare her some of life’s lessons that will serve only to make her less exuberant. But aparent can’t shield her child from all hurt... and that knowledge pains me immeasurably.”
“I can’t even imagine.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know much about young children, but your daughter seems particularly astute for all of her four years.”
“She is incredibly smart... much like her father.”
“I didn’t think you knew who he was.”
She knew exactly who he was, because he was the only man with whom she’d ever been intimate. “I’m not in the habit of taking stupid men to my bed.”
That muscle in his jaw fairly throbbed. She should have found satisfaction in raising his ire, in making him believe there had been others. In perhaps causing jealousy. No, not jealousy. If he felt that at all, he wouldn’t be striving to marry her off to Chidding. Although perhaps he experienced a bit of envy.
“Only those four?” he finally bit out.
Hewasjealous. Could he be if he didn’t hold feelings for her? His attempt to marry her off made absolutely no sense. But then neither had his actions on the morning they were to wed.
“The number isn’t really your concern. I don’t ask how many women you’ve bedded.”
He released a long, slow breath that she was surprised to find wasn’t comprised of flames of anger.
“You’re different,” she said hesitantly.
He arched a dark brow.
“From how you were before. You’re more serious. I sense no joy in you.”
Looking back toward the stream, he sighed. “I suppose maturity does that to a man.”
It wasn’t the years or the aging. She didn’t know what exactly it was. What she did know was that the man standing beside her now was not the one who’d snuck into her bedchamber through the window the night before he was to take her to wife. Who’d whispered naughty things in her ear and promised her a lifetime of happiness.
“Which ball will you be attending next?” he asked.
“None. I’ve received no invitations.”
He swung around then to face her fully, his face a mask of near rage. “Damn the snobbery of the aristocracy.”
Good Lord, was he, of all people, defending her? After what he’d done, the irony of it took her aback, but she was weary of striving to determine the truth of that long-ago morning, so she refrained from pointing out his own guilty behavior. “With my father gone, I have few to speak out in my defense.”
His scowl was likely to deepen the creases that had already begun making a home in his features. She wondered at the burdens that had formed them originally, hated being curious regarding all that had transpired within his life since their encounter at the church. “I’ll ensure you begin receiving invitations.”
“My father’s son has seen to it that I don’t.”
The smile he bestowed upon her was naught but arrogance and confidence. “Bremsford is no match for me, Reggie.”
Few men were, certainly none she knew personally. Not even Chidding, but then he would never be forced to battle it out with Knightly. She and he would no doubt live a quiet, peaceful existence. She longedfor the dull and mundane. “You confound me. I can’t determine why you care.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I never stopped caring? That all I want, all I ever wanted, was your happiness?”
“You have a damned atrocious way of demonstrating that.”
Reaching out with one hand, he cradled her cheek against his palm. She should pull away; yet late-afternoon shadows had fallen to blanket them in the sort of intimacy that called to lovers. Even if they were no longer so defined, once they had been. Once she had been desperate for any hint of a shadow where they could take refuge to experience what they were not allowed to display in the light. Therefore, she remained as she was, with her chest working like a blacksmith’s bellows, straining to take in and release the very oxygen it required to do its job.
“For five years, I fought to forget every moment spent in your company,” he said, his voice low, an intimate caress. “I very nearly succeeded, and then you published that damned book, and while the various true aspects of it are not as I exactly remembered, some are familiar enough to stir back to life what I thought I had finally put to rest. And they were all written with such passion.”
