Page 25

L ark steadied herself on the step as she responded to Mr. Branok’s question. She did not relish sharing such things with him. But he had more of a right to know than anyone what was being said.

She would simply have to beg forgiveness in her prayers that evening for breaking her promise to Penelope in allowing the rumors to spread to just one more person.

“There’s talk of a woman falling for you,” she replied, “incapable of resisting you. But that you could not bear to have your wings clipped, so you allowed her to fall in love with you, only to leave her at the first sign of another expedition.”

His eyes found hers. “So nothing new, then.”

She paused. He knew? How long had the rumors been spreading? “I must apologize for even mentioning such things,” she said.

“Then why did you?” His question wasn’t condemning in any way, merely asked with sincerity.

“Because when something is said about a person, that person has the right to know.”

He nodded, pensive. “So, your bringing up these matters has nothing to do with your own curiosity to see if such rumors were true?”

She hesitated until she saw the smile in his eyes. He wasn’t upset? How was this possible?

“Very well,” she replied. “A small part of me is curious. But I did not tell you to force a confession out of you.”

He nodded, and to her surprise, belief registered in his expression. “You are as generous as you are wise, Miss Fernside. And I must thank you. Not many would provide such consideration. Although, I should expect such coming from you, knowing the rumors about your own name.”

She blanched, swallowing hard as she attempted to speak levelly. “Y-you know of them?”

To her surprise, he grinned. “No. I know of no such rumors. I was merely attempting to catch you out, which I have appeared to do so successfully.”

His smile grew as he was so obviously pleased with his subterfuge, and despite herself, Lark smiled in return. “You are a scoundrel, Mr. Branok.”

“That will be unsurprising to you, given the rumors about my name,” he returned. “But what would you say in regard to the gossip you’ve experienced?”

She thought for a moment. “Like all tattle, what sliver of truth there may be is shrouded by an overabundance of untruths.”

He sobered, his blue eyes delving into hers. “Once again, you prove how wise you are. My experience has been the very same, so I will clarify, as much for your peace of mind as my own, that whatever you have heard, I would never intentionally injure a lady.”

Instant peace rushed over Lark at the humility, truth, and sorrow within the man’s expression. There was no mistaking the hurt hidden behind his eyes, as well, for she had witnessed the very same in her own reflection when she’d borne the brunt of gossip herself.

Nothing was quite so painful as when supposed loved ones spread—and believed—false knowledge for their own entertainment.

“I should like to elaborate, if you care to listen,” Mr. Branok continued, his voice soft and deep.

Lark nodded in silence, her heart reaching out to him once again. This time, she did not attempt to hold it back.

“The gossip began nearly four years ago,” he said.

“A young lady fell in love with me, but I regrettably did not love her in return.

I made my intentions clear from the beginning.

While I enjoyed her company and conversation to a degree, I had no intention of marrying and held no interest in her as a future wife.

“Unfortunately, she would not accept my words and, as such, spread the false news that she and I were to wed, hoping that would encourage me to do so. I had previously committed to an excursion to South Africa, so when I left—as was always the plan—word spread rapidly that I had abandoned my intended after leading her to believe that I would remain with her.”

He paused, his eyes clouding over. “My friends wrote to me of the news, and it truly pained me that nearly all of Society could believe that I would ever treat anyone so poorly. Fortunately, a few of my friends believed me without hesitation. Their loyalty was what kept me going, though I have avoided much of Society since, like one would avoid the plague. Both can be deadly, though one is physical, while the other is social—if not mental.”

He drew a deep breath, his shoulders straightening.

“At any rate, I was happy for the woman, despite her treatment of me. I will admit, I knew a great deal of relief when I discovered she’d married.

I dreaded returning to England for I feared her father would have challenged me to a duel or forced me to marry her to save her reputation, but a marriage between us would have never worked… ”

He trailed off, and Lark hesitated. Hearing the truth had not only settled her concerns but had also caused her heart to ache. Nothing was worse than an innocent person being mistreated.

She did not wish to keep dredging up his painful past, but her curiosity about the other woman could not be reconciled. There was something unsettling about the idea of another woman having Mr. Branok’s attention.

“Why is that?” she asked. “I mean, why could a marriage not have worked between you two? Simply because of your decision to never marry?”

“That, and there are a few other reasons,” he replied. “My benefactor has made it clear that he would cease sending me out on trips if I wed, for my attention would be split.”

So that had been true. His benefactor could clearly do what he wished with his own money, but Lark couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed for Mr. Branok’s sake. If he ever wanted to marry, that is.

“Excursions are quite expensive,” Henry continued, “as I’m sure you are aware. He does not wish for his money to be wasted on someone half-interested in discovering birds.”

Lark paused, an unsettling feeling creeping up behind her.

She knew the cost of an excursion had to be steep—traveling always was.

But then, despite Mr. Branok believing otherwise, she did not know the actual cost. If a viscount was concerned about not wasting his money, how was she to afford frequent excursions of her own?

“His concerns are not unfounded,” Mr. Branok continued, pulling Lark toward the conversation again.

“My attention would be scattered. But more than anything, I choose not to marry because I have many places I still wish to see, and…I could never leave a wife at home while I was away. Not only would the action be unreasonable, but it would also be cruel, being parted for months at a time. Wondering if I’m alive or dead.

Caring for all the matters at home, children, the estate, tenants—all while I’m living out my dreams. That hardly sounds fair. ”

Lark’s heart softened. This man was truly incomparable.

Mr. Dunn and Mr. Gibbon had both made it clear they couldn’t wait to be away from their wives.

Mr. Chumley always complained about his own.

Mr. Yates had often gone to London without allowing Lark to accompany him, always stating he needed time away from her incessant need to be cared for, though she never asked for a thing.

If more men were like Mr. Branok, Lark might have considered changing her mind on matrimony altogether.

But that ship had already set sail, never to return.

“So,” Mr. Branok said, still peering up at her from two steps down, “now that you know the truth, what think you? Has your opinion of me been terribly altered?”

“I didn’t have a high opinion of you to begin with,” she replied.

He laughed. “Just so.”

She smiled, delighted that he’d caught her teasing.

“In truth, my opinion of you remains the same, if not a little higher. I believe you are an honorable gentleman. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and my aunt and uncle, when others have not shown the same courtesy.

With such actions, how can you be anything but noble? ”

Lines of surprise stretched across his tanned brow. “High praise from Miss Fernside.”

If only he knew just how highly—and for how long—she had praised him and his work. But she would take that knowledge to her grave.

“My good opinion does not come readily any longer,” she said.

“Especially toward gentlemen.”

“Yes,” she replied honestly.

“I still have yet to discover why.”

Why? Because of the pain she’d been caused. Father leaving her in death. Mr. Yates leaving her when she revealed who she wanted to be. Mr. Drake leaving her when he learned he would not receive a penny of her inheritance.

But she was not quite ready to share such things.

“Because,” she began, “many gentlemen do not have a high opinion of women. They are too often untruthful with us simply to protect our delicate sensitivities. They believe that because we may dress fine and be told we look lovely in ball gowns, we cannot bear long travels, or early mornings, or talk of birds eating. Femininity is its own form of strength. One can be delicate, one can wish to be cared for, while not being coddled.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Mr. Branok said softly. “Which is why I complimented your conversation and bravery before complimenting the gown.”

The air between them instantly changed, sparkling like magic between them. He placed his hand on the banister only a few inches from hers.

“You did not compliment my gown,” she breathed, her head beginning to spin.

He moved closer, only one step between them. “Then allow me to now,” he whispered, eying the slight slope of her neckline before staring once more into her eyes. “Your gown is beautiful, but no matter what you wear, you are stunning , Miss Fernside.”

Her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of his words, and she marveled at his ability to share exactly what he was feeling with merely the intonation of his tone and the look in his eyes.

“I can only hope,” he continued, “that one day, you might give another gentleman a chance to prove that not all of us are intolerable. To prove that some of us know just how to respect a woman…and to treasure her.”

His hand slid up the banister, his finger brushing against hers in the process, and energy surged through her bare hands, spilling heat across her body like a hot cup of tea—invigorating and soothing all at once.

She looked at his hand next to hers, unmoving, then back at him. His eyes had yet to waver from her features. Slowly, deliberately, he moved forward to the step just below hers, their bodies nearly flush, their eyes at the same level due to his height.

“I suppose,” she began, forcing her voice to remain steady, “you are just that type of gentleman who knows how to do such things?”

She searched his eyes, attempting to decipher why he was drawing so closely to her—or perhaps to find her own answer as to what she was doing allowing him.

Both of them had made clear to the other that neither had any interest in marriage.

So why did they both allow themselves to pursue the clear attraction between them?

But then, she already knew why she did. The very fact that he was attracted to her and she was attracted to him was the chink in her armor. And she was powerless to the look of desire in his eyes as he drew ever closer.

His hand lifted from the banister, moving to rest softly against the back of her fingers, funneling more heat throughout her body. His eyes were soft as they looked between hers, and when they moved to her lips, her heart stamped against her chest.

Mr. Branok, the Mr. Branok, wanted to kiss her.

Her. Strange, little, fortune-filled, bird-obsessed Lark Fernside.

She had to be dreaming. There was no possibility this gentleman, this famed naturalist, writer, bird observer, and world traveler, had any true interest in her.

Or did he?

He leaned closer, his head tipping to the side, his masculine lips parted as Lark did the same. Their breath mingled. Lark’s head swirled with desire, disbelief, and longing as her eyes closed of their own accord, as if they knew it would help her live in the moment, relish in his kiss even more.

He hovered just out of reach. If she moved but an inch, their lips would touch. So why didn’t she? Why didn’t he?

Did he not truly wish to kiss her but had been caught up in the moment and was now wondering how to retreat without offending her?

Her heart sank, and she opened her eyes, daring a glance at him.

His own eyes were only half-open, his brow furrowed.

“Mr. Branok?”

“Yes?” He remained where he was, his breath tickling her lips.

“What…what are we doing?”

He did not move, that intense focus remaining on her lips. “I know not.”

Just as she’d feared. He did not want to kiss her. “Then perhaps, if we do not know what it is we are doing, we ought not be doing it?”

His frowned deepened. “Perhaps.” He hesitated. “But I cannot help but wonder if that is the precise reason we should do it.”

Was there still hope? Dare she believe…

She chewed her lower lip. “You know I shall never marry?”

“Yes,” he breathed, finally looking into her eyes. “Just as you know I shall not.”

“Then,” she began, “your intention is to…”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. A sudden realization settled in Mr. Branok’s eyes, and he pulled back with a snap.

He withdrew his hand from hers and then took a step back down the stairs.

“Forgive me,” he breathed, shaking his head and averting his gaze.

“I did not wish…you must think…” He trailed off.

“No, I have no excuse. My behavior is unacceptable. Especially after what I shared with you about…Forgive me, Miss Fernside. I shall treat you with better respect from this moment forward.”

Understanding settled on Lark. Of course. He feared doing the same thing with her that had been said about him years ago. But that was not what this was. Was it?

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. She could not end the evening having him think she judged him or that she was not just as much to blame. “No, you did not act alone. I also…”

But it was no use. He shook his head, backing down another step. “You trusted me, and I would not wish for you to think that what I said before was anything but the truth.”

“I do not think that,” she tried again.

Once more, he withdrew, turning around and speaking over his shoulder. “Forgive me. I should never have stopped you from retiring from the evening. Goodnight, Miss Fernside. I hope this will not disturb your opinion of me.”

With that, he turned around and walked away.

Lark stared after his broad shoulders and long stride, regret overcoming her.

She never should have asked him what he was doing. She’d been foolish. She’d merely wanted a response—words that mentioned how he’d longed to kiss her because he could not help himself, because he found her—the real her—more irresistible than any woman he’d ever known.

But once again, she’d opened her mouth and spoken abrasively instead of holding her tongue.

And how she regretted it.

Wretched dress. She never should have put it on.