Page 18 of Love Abandoned

Chapter Eight

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;

Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes.

—Shakespeare,Romeo and Juliet

He waited untilthe carriage pulled away before asking Elizabeth about her evening.

“It was far better than I anticipated,” she said with a smile.

“Then may I ask what your tears were about?” Despite her smile, it had been clear when he’d walked into the drawing room that she’d been crying.

Her eyebrows drew together, and he could almost see her mind weighing sharing the truth with him. He might be treading into feminine territory and it was something reserved for ladies’ discussion only. “You need not share if it makes you uncomfortable. My apologies for prying.”

“No, I want to tell you. I should have told you long before now, but…”

She let the word drift. There was no need for her to finish the sentence. He knew he was absent far too much. Worse, he knew he would be again.

“Go on,” he said.

“I have plans for an orphanage in the village. There is a growing need.”

He tilted his head questioningly. “And that brought you to tears?”

“The ladies have offered to help finance it.”

He leaned back on the bench, digesting the last bit of information. “Why would you not come to me with such a project?” She winced at his tone, and he damned himself, but it was galling she’d gone to others.

“I tried.” Her voice was meek, but she lifted her chin defiantly. “Several times.”

The wind went out of his sails. He did not doubt she had. “It is a worthy endeavor.”

“I believe it is.” She, too, leaned back against her seat. “You’re not angry?”

“About the orphanage? Of course not. We are only as good as the deeds we do.” He glanced out the window as they rounded the corner a little too sharply. Almost home. “I would like to contribute, if I may.”

“Oh, Richard, that would be splendid.”

The carriage pulled off to the side, cutting short any further conversation. Simon opened the door and assisted them out, Hastings and their London head footman, Clarkson, at the ready in the doorway. He handed over his great coat to Clarkson and waited for Elizabeth to shed her pelisse and pattens. He crooked his elbow, and Elizabeth tucked her hand in it.

He looked at her ridiculous slippers. “Would you like me to carry you up?”

“Yes, but I won’t ask it of you,” she said teasingly.

“Thank goodness. I barely made it out of the Argyll Rooms.”

She leaned into him, laughing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been comfortable in her company.

“I, too, have news,” he said as they crested the top of the stairs and headed down the hall toward their rooms. “I am investing in Randall’s trading company. We have not hammered out the details, but he wishes to expand his fleet and has agreed to a partnership.”

“That’s wonderful, Richard. I’m so very pleased for you.”

They stopped at her door, and he hesitated. It had been a good night, the best he’d enjoyed in a long time. Perhaps they could make a better life than what they had. The candle flickered in the wall sconce, and her eyes sparkled along with it. He sensed her invitation, although she didn’t say a word.

He leaned into her, the floral smell of her hair intoxicating. His body ached for her, but his mind forbade it. They might be able to manage a decent life together but not beyond that door. The thought of losing control and carelessly making love made his stomach roll with unease. He kissed the top of her head and stepped back.

“Good night, Elizabeth.” Richard turned and crossed to his room without looking back. He did not relax until he had closed his own door. He pulled the bell, signaling Marcus to come give him a hand, and poured himself a brandy. He was proud of his restraint. He pulled at his neck scarf in irritation. Then why was he so bloody disappointed?

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