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The more Gwendolyn had thought about Lady Rabron’s possessiveness toward Mr. Steele, the more she found the woman’s words
unsettling. Would she truly expose him as an imposter if he didn’t cater to her desires? Was that love? Gwendolyn thought
not.
So she had written a note. The message was simple.
Lady Rabron may betray you. Be careful.
This was not a message Gwendolyn could give over to Molly to be delivered. What if it ended up in the wrong hands?
What if Molly mentioned to Tweedie or Dara that she had been passing notes to a Mr. Curran? In the late hours of the night?
That would inspire a host of lectures Gwendolyn didn’t wish to hear. She would be expected to explain herself.
No, she could only trust herself.
And so, she’d waited until most of the guests had sought out their rooms and the hallway was quiet. For a coin, the porter had told her which room was Mr. Curran’s.
Her plan was simple. She had let Molly prepare her for bed. Once the maid had left, Gwendolyn put on her dress and snuck out
of her room. She would slip the note under his door and then run back to her room and no one would be the wiser.
She hadn’t anticipated the door opening and Mr. Steele pulling her inside.
His room was dark save for the moonlight. He shut the door behind her, and they were alone .
Gwendolyn’s stomach curled with the enormity of what was happening. She was alone with Mr. Steele in his bedroom . In the dark.
And he smelled of fresh night air, the smoke of burning wood, and that hint of spiciness that she associated with him. He
gripped her arm as if he was happy to see her, as if he’d never let go.
She readied to explain about the conversation with Lady Rabron and her needing to warn him—but she was alone with Mr. Steele...
in his bedroom... in the dark .
Rules could be bent in the dark, or broken completely. Reputations were ruined in the dark, even happily given up.
And wasn’t this what she truly wanted? To be alone, with him . She looked up at him. The lines of his face, the strong jaw, the straight nose, the firm mouth, were highlighted by the
silver in the moonlight. He was the most perfect man she’d ever seen, and they were—
Her peripheral vision detected movement.
It took a second for her to register that he was not alone, even as a woman gasped her outrage.
Gwendolyn recognized the source. Lady Rabron.
No wonder he’d dragged her into his room, and his grip holding her was tight. He needed help. Just as the moonlight had fallen
romantically upon Mr. Steele, it now unromantically outlined Lady Rabron’s figure in the cotton lawn of her nightdress. It
shone off her blond hair that curled past her shoulders. She was a woman ready for bed.
Or a bedding.
Her ladyship was trying to compromise him, just as Gwendolyn had suspected.
The problem was... Gwendolyn’s reputation was far more fragile than his or Lady Rabron’s. And now, whether she liked it
or not, she was involved. Her scratching at his door was certainly a mannerism of the hopping around different beds that was
whispered to be common at house parties.
“Did you need me, Miss Lanscarr?” he asked as if they were standing in the library down the hall and not his bedroom. He reached
for the door handle. “Very well. I will come with you,” he said as if she’d spoken. He opened the door and practically pushed
her through it. He followed, taking her arm again. He marched her down the hall to the small library before he stopped. Some
guests had been in there earlier, but now they were gone. Not even the porter was there to see Mr. Steele rush her into the
room.
The room was dark save for the moon’s light through the window. It fell against the wall, highlighting the portrait of the musical young woman. He closed the door before releasing the breath he’d been holding. “Thank you—”
She cut him off. “You need to return and tell her that we did not have an assignation planned.”
He gave a small, unworried shrug. “I acted as if you needed my immediate attention.”
Gwendolyn made an impatient sound. “Do you truly believe Lady Rabron is so gullible? If so, you know nothing of the feminine
character. That woman didn’t have bubbles for brains. She knew you were running, and she will blame me.”
“Because you needed my help?” he questioned densely.
“Because she will assume I was sneaking into your room for the same reason she was there. She’ll believe I stole you from
her.”
“It wasn’t my attention she wanted. She was looking for a romp,” he assured Gwendolyn with cool dismissal—and something inside
her snapped.
“Maybe I’m the one with bubbles for brains,” she announced.
“Why do you say that?”
She took a step away from him, her eyes scanning the deep shadows of the bookshelves as she attempted to sort it all out.
“She told me you asked for her hand.”
Silence met her words.
Gwendolyn waited. When he didn’t speak, she turned to him. Silvery light from the window hit the hard planes of his face,
the breadth of his shoulders. Had her words turned him to stone?
“I did.” Another beat. “I didn’t—” he started, but she interrupted.
“Don’t tell me you have forgotten any of the feelings you must have once had for her? Marriage is an important step, sir. Don’t tell me you didn’t care for her. You aren’t that sort of man.”
He released his breath slowly as if just gaining the right of things. “I worshipped her,” he said.
Gwendolyn didn’t want to hear that. “Your sun and stars,” she said, repeating Lady Rabron’s words.
“So I thought. She had me convinced I mattered to her as well.” He shifted his weight, but he did not move toward Gwendolyn.
“She rejected me, and I was humbled. Not for the first time. Not for the last.” He fell quiet and then added, “Satisfied?
Is that what you wished to hear?”
“You don’t mention brokenhearted.” She turned her head, noticing the black binders of music on the bottom shelf. She focused
on them, her own heart heavy and sad and peevish, her mind trying to sort out the reasons why.
“No. I overcame that. I always overcome ,” he stressed bitterly. “I wanted so much, Miss Lanscarr. I wanted roots and a feeling that I mattered, and that the future
would be good. When Violet noticed me, all of that seemed possible.” He paused before concluding bitterly, “I wanted more than a mere romp. I wanted someone to believe in me.”
Gwendolyn swung her gaze up to him. “I believe in you. You rejected me... without giving even the idea of us a chance.
And there is something between us. You can’t deny it—”
She stopped, frowned. Then admitted, “You can deny it. You have.”
Her own culpability threatened to overwhelm her. Gwendolyn leaned over, stunned.
“Gwendolyn?”
She held up a hand to stave him off. She didn’t want him near her. Not now. Not ever. She started for the door.
Dara had been right. Her sister had warned her. She had sensed in that way siblings have that Gwendolyn might have been lost
in her own hopes and imaginings.
Well, why not? Gwendolyn had never been in love before. She’d read about it, dreamed of it, longed for it, but had never experienced
it—until him.
Or was it love? Something about him called to her, and it was more than mere lust, or so she believed. She liked standing
beside him. She felt safe near him. She’d trusted him... or had that been, as Dara suggested, her own inexperience?
Gwendolyn didn’t know. But the man had been forthright with her. He’d told her there was nothing between them. She’d just
believed that he’d not understood the depth of her feelings, of her loyalty and her admiration. She’d been wrong. Shame burned
through her. If Lady Rabron hadn’t been in the room when he had pulled Gwendolyn in, she would have happily climbed into his
bed. She wanted to believe the best of him, even when he warned her not to.
“My sister was right,” she said.
“About?”
“You. She said I was being ridiculous pining over you—”
“Gwendolyn,” he started to protest.
He used her given name again. She still liked the way he said it, but she was seeing clearly now. She winced, and he fell silent.
She moved toward the door. She didn’t speak. Her throat was too tight. She needed to find her room before she disgraced herself.
“Why did you come to my door?” he asked.
Gwendolyn drew a breath, faced him, forced herself to talk past the slithering emotions roiling inside her. “I wished to warn
you that Lady Rabron wants her talons in you. She made her intentions very clear to me, and I sought to help. Ironic, isn’t
it?”
“You did help,” he insisted quietly.
She tilted her head, believing she was seeing the full measure of him at last. He was wildly handsome, but also a bit feral.
And, perhaps, damaged. Was it because of his base birth, something Gwendolyn would have happily overlooked out of her attraction
to him? Or did he nurture resentments? Was he incapable of letting someone love him?
Gwendolyn frowned. Did she want a man who made her do all the work?
“You are a fool, Mr. Curran,” she said, and left the room.
Shame burned through her. Gwendolyn hurried her step toward her room. The porter had not returned to his post. She was grateful
for that small favor.
He did not follow, and she told herself that was good.
But disappointing.
This was what was behind Dara’s warnings. It was what her sister had feared.
Gwendolyn also knew that no matter the consequences, her family would stand beside her.
She climbed under her bedcovers without undressing, a mortal sin for someone who stitched her own clothing. She even wore
her shoes until she realized how silly she was being and kicked them off.
But sleep didn’t come, not with guilt hounding her.
Lady Rabron was no fool. She knew Mr. Steele had put her off. The sting of rejection would bring out the worst in her, as
it did all women. Her ladyship would look for a scapegoat and focus on Gwendolyn. She’d find willing allies in shredding Gwendolyn’s
reputation in Miss Purley and her friends. The story would be bandied around London in less than a fortnight. Once that happened,
not even the loyal Viscount Morley would be interested in Gwendolyn’s hand. Truth was not important when rumors were juicy.
And while she’d laughed at Dara’s fears of her being a spinster... being ruined was not a pleasant prospect.
Her only solace was that she was truly and completely done with Mr. Steele.
He was right. She was too good for him.
“Miss Gwendolyn, you must wake. Miss Gwendolyn. ”
Gwendolyn tried to bat Molly away. She pulled the bedclothes higher up over her and gave Molly her back.
“Miss Gwendolyn .” Molly began shaking her shoulder. “You need to rise. I have to help you dress.”
“Am dressed,” Gwendolyn informed her.
“In your riding habit,” Molly replied patiently, giving her another shake. “You want to go riding. You requested a horse.”
“No, want to sleep.”
“You promised to go riding with Mr. Curran this morning.”
Mr. Curran. The name took a moment to wiggle its way into her exhausted mind. When it did, Gwendolyn didn’t need to open her eyes to
bite out, “I made no such promise.” She buried her nose in her pillow.
Molly made a frustrated sound before trying a different tack. “Miss, you adore riding. You planned to ride this morning. And
he’s waiting for you.”
Gwendolyn threw herself onto her back, her eyes still closed. “He can wait forever for all I care.”
“But the horses can’t. You hate to see saddled horses just standing around for their riders. You’ve told me that before. You
think it is rude when riders don’t consider their mounts.”
This was true. She slitted open her eyes. “Molly, I will not ride with him. Tell him that.” Although she was tempted to ride.
A horse had been saddled. She missed riding. She could arrange for one of the stable lads to escort her.
“I’d rather not, miss. He tracked me down in the servants’ quarters. Stood over my bed and ordered me to come fetch you.”
That woke Gwendolyn. She sat up. “Who is he to tell my maid what to do?”
“If you had been out there to meet him at the appointed hour, he would not have had to do that,” Molly muttered.
“Excuse me? Did he claim we were to meet this morning? That is not true.”
“He said you would say that. He said I should not believe you.”
Gwendolyn’s temper exploded, fueled by lack of sleep and her very recent resolve to rip Mr. Steele out of her life. “Who does
he believe he is?”
“Oh, I can’t say, Miss Gwendolyn. However, I have your habit right here.” She held up the garment.
“He is telling lies.”
“That he might,” Molly agreed before pointing out, “but you look so fetching in your new habit. ’Twould be a shame to not
wear it. Please, Miss Gwendolyn, it is only a wee ride. Can’t you do it?”
Gwendolyn wanted to shriek her frustration. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “ Why are you pushing me to do this?”
“He promised me a gold crown if I could rouse you out of the room to ride with him,” Molly said evenly. “He’s waiting on the
front lawn with two horses. Please, miss, I would like that gold crown. I’ve never even seen one.”
“What if I paid you a gold crown to tell him to—” Gwendolyn broke off before she said something she shouldn’t. Besides, Molly knew she didn’t have any money to call her own.
Abruptly Molly’s eyes widened. She grinned as if she’d made a discovery. “I’ve never seen you like this over a gentleman,
miss. You like him.”
“I do not.” Purging him from her system had been what last night was all about.
“Now I really think you should ride,” Molly insisted.
“I’m tired.”
“You don’t look like you slept well,” Molly commiserated.
Gwendolyn shot a glance toward the looking glass in the room, and frowned at what she saw. Her hair had come loose from its
braid and was every which way. Her eyes looked like tiny, angry slits—
“I can make you look as if you slept like a princess, all fresh and relaxed,” Molly offered seductively.
“You could?”
“He won’t know you gave one thought to him,” Molly answered, revealing that she understood the situation.
Gwendolyn considered a moment. She hated that she hung on his every word, looked for him in every gathering, shared what she
was thinking at every opportunity, and he didn’t return one ounce of the same regard.
This trip to help him unlock the mystery of his past had been the single most exciting adventure of her life—because she was
helping him. She’d wanted to believe he’d chosen her.
Except he hadn’t. Mr. Steele didn’t need any one. He’d told her as much in Lady Orpington’s coach. She just hadn’t wanted to accept it. She preferred to trust her instincts. To believe he was as attracted to her as she was to him.
And yet he had continuously dismissed her, and she was tired of it.
She looked stunning in her new riding habit. If she dazzled him and behaved as if his actions were of little interest to her,
could she not reclaim a bit of her pride back?
He might also be pressing her to ride so that he could apologize for what happened last night. The idea of seeing him grovel
was worth getting out of bed.
“What of the circles under my eyes?” she questioned Molly.
“Miss Gwendolyn, for a gold coin, they will magically disappear—” The maid wrinkled her nose. “You are wearing your dress
from last night. Now I must iron it. That muslin is not easy to keep the creases out of.”
“I know, I know,” Gwendolyn said. Then she caught another look at herself in the mirror. “You should earn two gold coins if
you can make me look brilliant.”
“I’ll settle for one. Take your dress off,” Molly ordered, busily pouring fresh water into the basin bowl on the washstand.
Within a half hour, Gwendolyn did appear brilliant in the deep blue habit. Her hair was twisted and pinned at her nape, the better to wear the dashing riding chapeau with its pheasant feather at a jaunty angle. She caught the loop sewn in the overlong train of her skirt in one hand and left the room, confident that she looked better than good. She sparkled.
She didn’t meet anyone as she went down the stairs. The hour was still too early. She was glad her footsteps were muffled
on the carpet, because her riding half boots were a bit stiff.
A footman bowed and opened the front door for her, and there he was. Mr. Steele held the reins of two horses that he’d patiently been walking. He had his back turned to her as if he enjoyed
the morning, and it was a glorious morning. There was that almost-crisp autumn feeling to the air as the sun filtered through
scattering clouds. The light fell upon his person as if the whole universe singled him out.
A sudden case of nerves threatened Gwendolyn’s resolve. To combat it, she pressed her hand against her stomach. He meant nothing
her, she told herself. Repeating those words over and over to herself, she walked out onto the gravel drive.
He heard the crunch of her footsteps and turned. His hat was low, but it did not hide the appreciative gleam in his eyes at
the sight of her. Yes, Molly had earned that gold coin.
“Are you a rider, Miss Lanscarr?” he said in greeting, holding up the reins to his bay and a gray gelding with a black mane
and stockings.
Her answer was to put a foot in the stirrup before the stable lad could reach her with a mounting block. She lifted herself up in the sidesaddle. It was good to have long legs. It gave one an advantage. She arranged her skirts, took the reins from him, and gave the horse a kick. Her fear was that the horse might have a plod ding gait, a “lady’s horse,” that would make her desire to demonstrate her skill ridiculous instead of confident.
Fortunately, the gelding surprised her. He set off at a smooth trot. “You will be fun to ride,” Gwendolyn cooed, giving his
neck a pat. He released his air as if agreeing.
A beat later, she heard Mr. Steele coming after her. He brought his horse alongside hers. “Does this mean I’ve been forgiven?”
All the angst concerning him came roaring back, and she was doubly annoyed. She wanted to say something sharp, to put him
in his place... but then, in that strange way that things happen, a filter lifted, and she saw her actions clearly. She’d
idolized Mr. Steele, and that wasn’t wise.
He was a man like any other. Well, obviously more buffle-headed than most since he behaved as if he could control any situation.
It was part of his mystique. However, there was one thing he could not control, and that was allowing someone to care for
him. Or, even more dangerous, to love him.
“ I’m a loner, Miss Lanscarr ,” he’d told her. “I like my life the way it is.”
Mr. Steele couldn’t value what he had never known.
And her battered little heart softened because the problem was him, not her. She didn’t know all that had transpired between
him and a young Lady Rabron years ago, but she intuitively understood in this moment that it had crippled him. As had being
an orphan.
“No,” she said lightly, “my riding with you means that you owe Molly a gold coin.” And with those words, she gave the gray a kick. There was a surge of muscle beneath her, and then the horse shot off like a bolt.
Gwendolyn leaned low, letting the animal decide where they should go as long as it wasn’t back to the stables. The gray gained
speed, especially as Mr. Steele and his bay thundered after them.
They rode across the lawn and tore up a path along the ridge, and then Mr. Steele turned the bay in a new direction, but not
back toward the house. He slowed to a trot. Her horse instinctively fell into line.
For a few minutes, they rode in companionable silence. Gwendolyn felt her blood sing with the joy of being out on such a beautiful
morning.
“You have a good seat,” Mr. Steele said.
“I’m a country lass. I’ve always enjoyed riding. I’ve missed it.”
His expression turned serious. “Miss Lanscarr—” he started, but she stopped him.
“I don’t wish to discuss whatever it is you are about to say. I want to just savor this moment.”
Of course he didn’t listen to her. “Violet will not gossip.”
And just like that, all goodwill evaporated. “This was a bad idea. I’m returning to the house.” She would have swung her horse
around, but he reached over and caught her reins.
“You said you wanted to help with my purpose here.”
She gave him a sour smile. “You told me to play cards. You said that was all you wished from me.”
A muscle hardened in his jaw. His eyes were a very dark blue this morning, bluer than she’d ever seen them. He’d shaved. She
caught the scent of the soap he’d used. That spicy, spicy aroma of bazaars and places beyond her reach.
Gwendolyn braced herself, wanting an apology, not wanting an apology, wanting him to say he cared for her as much as she did
him. And then hating herself for abandoning her night’s hard-won convictions. She didn’t need him. She didn’t want him. She’d
already sacrificed enough of her sanity and self-respect for him—
He let go of the reins. “Follow me.” He set his horse off down a path into the forest.
“Where are you going?”
He drew his horse to a halt. The forest created a background of green and gold behind him. “There is a river in this direction.
I heard a story last night about a cottage located on its banks. I wish to have a look at it.”
“What sort of story?”
“A ghost story. The last marchioness built the cottage. It was her sanctuary. She drowned there. I want to take a look at
the place. They say she haunts it.” He gave a half smile, a canny one. He knew he’d baited a hook that she would find hard
to resist. It bothered her that he believed he knew her.
And he was right. He had hooked her on the word ghost . She kicked her horse forward. “Where did you hear this story?”
“I thought you were returning to the house?” he said as she drew up beside him.
She could have shoved him out of his saddle for that remark. “You are annoying.”
He reacted with genuine surprise. “What have I done?”
“You want my help. You don’t want my help.” You look like you wish to kiss me. You don’t kiss me. Gwendolyn shook her head, not wishing to speak those thoughts aloud.
But they were true.
They rode in silence a moment. Then he said, “I have a man who is a Middlebury servant. He told me the story.”
A shared confidence... it was a start... maybe. And once again, Gwendolyn had to pick up the thread. “Does the story
tell us how the accident happened?”
“It is the same as we’ve already been told. She had a young son, and the thought is that he may have gone into the water the
way children do, and she went after him. They found her body, but he was washed to the sea.”
“And now the last marchioness haunts Colemore? I do believe in spirits, Mr. Steele. My family home in Wiltham is full of them.
My sisters and I hope they keep our cousin Richard up at night.”
“It is claimed some have heard her spirit singing for her child,” he said.
“The singing woman.” Gwendolyn could barely contain her excitement. “Is it every night? Or just some nights?”
“According to the tale, told by men trying to out-impress each other around a fire, the marquess is the one who can hear her. Interesting, no? He is an odd one.” He told her of his meeting with the marquess the night before.
“But you didn’t ask him about the ghost.”
“There were servants around. He behaved differently than at dinner.”
“In what way?”
“More sure of himself, although he is definitely eccentric.”
She nodded. “He didn’t recognize you? Or see a resemblance?”
“Any resemblance is slight. Thank God.”
“It is the nose,” Gwendolyn answered. “You, the marquess, and Lord Ellisfield have the same nose. Also, a bit of the same
jawline.”
Mr. Steele shrugged. “Perhaps. I don’t see it all that much. But now you understand why I wish to see the cottage.”
And he’d asked Gwendolyn to come with him.
She found herself smiling.
He smiled back... and all the promises she’d made to herself in the middle of the night seemed to fade away.
They came to a fork on the bridle path. He turned to the left. “It can’t be much farther to the river. I can feel it in the
air. Wagner said the marchioness used to go to the cottage every chance she could.”
Wagner must be his man. “Is there a reason why?”
“They say she and Lord and Lady Middlebury did not rub along well.”
“Unsurprising,” Gwendolyn said. “She was foreign. She would have had difficulty with any of the Top One Hundred families of
England.”
“True. Wagner was told the marquess considered her stubborn. He found her independence annoying.”
“Most men would,” she replied dryly.
Mr. Steele burst out laughing. The sound echoed around them, and she realized she’d never heard him laugh before. And he was
laughing because of her quip.
She couldn’t recall one time when any of the men courting her ever caught her little witticisms. Usually they weren’t paying
attention to anything other than her bosom or the next sentence they wished to utter instead of listening to anything she
said.
But whether he admitted it or not, Mr. Steele did pay attention.
And she smiled at him. She couldn’t stop herself—because in this moment, the love she felt for him came roaring back with
breathtaking force. It was not sane. It was not sensible. But it was there...
He spoke. “I did not invite Violet to my room. I don’t dally with married women. It is not something I do.”
“That is not the issue.” Although it was good to hear that he had standards.
“Then what is it? I’m attempting to apologize.”
He spoke as if she was being difficult. “Apologize—even though you have no idea why I am—” She hesitated. She was about to
say “disappointed” but realized she actually had no right to expect anything from him. He wanted nothing from her. So, what
sense was there in an apology...?
“Speak your mind, Miss Lanscarr. You usually do. I don’t believe I have flinched yet.” Early morning sun filtered down through the leafy canopy of the trees. It was an idyllic place for confidences, or a fight.
She turned in her saddle to face him. “You have ruined my reputation. By pulling me into the room—”
“It was an impulse—” he started.
“—you gave Lady Rabron grist for the rumor mill.”
“But you came to my room,” he pointed out with unreasonable male logic.
“My purpose was to slide a note under your door warning you of Lady Rabron’s interest, not to be publicly humiliated. If I’d
wanted that, I would have pulled my skirts over my head at dinner.”
He blinked as if either her words or her vehemence surprised him.
She released her breath in aggravation. Men were obtuse. “Your sex seems to value chastity, even though few of them are chaste
at all. As an unmarried woman, I must be careful. One terrible rumor or spiteful word can not only ruin me but also reflect
upon my family. I was attempting to warn you, and in doing so, I have compromised myself.” She could have added, with your help . She didn’t. If he didn’t understand the role he played, then there was no hope for him.
He sat silent, his brow gathered. Then, “She won’t say anything.”
Gwendolyn knew he referred to Lady Rabron.
“I’m not so certain.” She kicked her horse forward.
Mr. Steele grabbed her reins. “Do you regret helping me?”
The question annoyed her. Her horse had stopped at the touch of his hand. An urge to lash out at him built inside her, but
in the end, the truth won out. “No. I believe you needed to be warned.” Her gaze dropped to the worn path through the late
summer foliage ahead of them. “I told you, I wanted to help.”
He released his hold. “You have. You saved me from an ugly scene last night.”
Gwendolyn mentally debated that. “You would have managed. My warning was actually unnecessary.”
“But the attempt was not wrong,” he vowed to her.
“Except, it cost me my pride.”
He rocked back in his saddle at her statement. She could feel him study her, and suddenly, she was tired of the game. He did
not feel what she felt. Even if he did, he denied it. “We should move on,” she said, and would have kicked the gray forward,
but then he spoke.
“I don’t... know another way than being... alone.”
“Or is it just safer?” Gwendolyn answered. If she’d slapped him, he could not have looked more stunned. “I understand, Beckett.”
Using his Christian name felt right. “I was orphaned. I grasp that some fears start early in life—”
“It isn’t fear—”
“Then what else would you call it? You don’t trust. Fine. You want to be alone. Very well. A woman rejected your suit for a man who may have a title, but a boring character.” Gwendolyn couldn’t imagine tossing aside a young Mr. Steele for someone so fond of brandy and his own conceit
like Lord Rabron. It made her question Violet’s intelligence.
But she didn’t say this. Her focus was on Beckett. “It is hard to trust, but worth it .” She let the last two words hang in the air before saying briskly, “Now, where is this cottage?” As far as she was concerned,
the subject was closed. She lifted her reins, ready to ride.
He didn’t move. His jaw tightened. He appeared as if he was trying to form words and questioning their wisdom.
“If you are going to tell me,” she warned him, “that you are denying any feelings for me because you aren’t worthy of me,
then you’d best keep quiet.”
“But it is true, Gwendolyn,” he snapped back. “You can do far better.”
She released a heavy sigh. “Now you are the one who is being boring. Don’t tell me what I think, what I feel, or what I want. I have no pretense to nobility. I’m a half-sister. My mother was the daughter of a British civil servant. I have no fortune. But I have a family who loves me and whom I love dearly in return. That makes me vastly wealthier than anyone back at Colemore. So mark my words. If I turn up at breakfast this morning and my reputation has been compromised, then you will have to step up to the mark, Mr. Steele. I won’t let my family suffer because you wish to sulk through life alone.”
For the briefest of moments, Mr. Steele—Beckett—appeared speechless. And then he said, “Challenge accepted, Miss Lanscarr.
I will make an honest woman of you.”
She believed he was jesting, but she also knew he was an honorable man. The tension knotting her shoulders over what would
become of her when the rumors started eased. “That is not a strong declaration,” Gwendolyn noted. “But you didn’t argue with
me. I consider that a win.”
“I will always protect you, Gwendolyn. When I asked you for my favor, I promised no harm would come to you. I meant those
words.”
She looked away from him. This was what she wanted—she’d dreamed of a promise of any sort, actually.
But it was not how she wanted it.
She loved him. Was it too much to wish he loved her, too?
Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back. Self-pity was a shameful emotion. She gathered her reins. “Where is this cottage?”
Had he noticed her reaction? Possibly.
However, he did not mention her lapse of spirit, and for that, she was grateful. Instead, he pushed his horse ahead. They rode through the forest with only the sounds of their horses and the morning bird calls. A squirrel scrambled down a tree, saw the riders, and skittered back up to safety. He sat out on a limb and chattered warning of their invasion to everyone else. She and Beckett didn’t speak. Their silence was like a spell around them. It was actually companionable.
Beckett straightened. “The cottage,” he said. “We found it.”
And there through the trees she caught a glimpse of silver water, a small clearing, and the stone facade of a building.