Chapter 16
Arabella
Icouldn’t help but look around the corridors after luncheon for the elusive Mr. Rowan Ashworth.
He had been everywhere I had been yesterday.
I had hardly been able to turn around without bumping into him.
And to my great dismay, even after pulling each of my sisters aside and warning them, he had done an admirable job charming them back into his good graces.
I was absolutely baffled by it. Father hadn’t helped.
He praised Rowan again and again at the dinner table last night, heralding us all with tales of his accomplishments at university.
I couldn’t get a word in edgewise about Clodwick’s merits.
The worst was after dinner when Rowan had told everyone about a footrace we’d had as children, and how I had cheated by cutting across the edge of a field containing stinging nettle.
I had tripped and developed a painful rash on my face and hands.
The whole story was mortifying and, unfortunately, quite true.
Then he had told everyone how he had had to carry me on his back all the way to the house while I cried loud enough for the county over to hear it.
Mr. Clodwick had even cracked a smile at that part, after shamefully staring at an empty chair at the table for the entire first two courses. He was not helping our cause at all.
My eyes trailed to the tile floor as I thought of the story Rowan had told last night.
Oddly enough, I hadn’t remembered him carrying me until he had mentioned it again.
I suppose I had been too focused on his mean-spirited words the next day when he had called me a strawberry face.
Perhaps I should be grateful that, like a puff of smoke, he had disappeared this morning.
I turned to glance toward the library, curious if Rowan was inside.
He was not my concern. With a shrug, I spun on my heel to join the others in the drawing room so we might go over our plans for this afternoon.
Elizabeth had said something about wanting to purchase ribbons to match her new gown.
It would be a good time to stop and purchase new ink, as mine was running low.
My gaze strayed to the library behind me again as I reached the door. Was it too much to hope Rowan would stay away for the entire day? I liked imagining that he was hiding away, disappointed that he was losing any suit he’d thought he had with me. I smirked and turned again, reaching for the door.
My shoulder rammed hard into the wall.
No, not a wall.
I had found Rowan the hard way.
My good hand went to my shoulder, and I rubbed it.
“Blast!” he exclaimed, reaching for me. “Your bad arm! Did I hurt your wrist?”
“No, just my life,” I grumbled.
He cupped his ear with his hand. “Pardon, you wish to be my wife?”
In a reflexive moment, I smacked his arm . . . with my bad hand. Pain shot through my wrist, and I gritted my teeth to keep from saying something highly improper.
“Really, Arabella. You ought to be more careful.”
I straightened and glared at him and all his pretentious concern. “I didn’t know I had to be careful. I thought you might have finally realized how completely futile your presence here was and returned home.”
“Let me clarify so no further confusion occurs.” Rowan leaned back against the drawing room door and casually tucked one hand into his waistcoat pocket. “I’m not leaving this house until you vow you love me and consent to be my wife.”
“Excuse me?” There is no way I had heard him correctly.
“You are excused, my dear.”
My dear? This was getting worse by the second. I set my good hand on my hip. “You might have grown out of some of your more vexing traits, but I have no plans to fall in love with anyone but Mr. Clodwick.”
He smirked. “Is that even possible?”
I stuck out my chin. “I am well on my way already.”
“This wasn’t the setting I imagined for talking this out with you, but I suppose now will have to suffice. Based on your confessions in Quillsbury, you wanted to be engaged to him because of a complicated matter, and time was of the essence. I do not believe you care one wit for Mr. Clodwick.”
“And you believe I care more for you?” I shook my head. He had always thought highly of himself, but this was insufferable.
His voice lowered. “I think there is a strong possibility.”
I refused to let his sultry voice affect me. “There is also a strong possibility that I might strangle you if we were ever to wed.”
He tilted his head as if he believed me capable but was calling my bluff. “Then there is not even the smallest part of you that could think of me as your husband?”
I clasped my hands tightly together, pushing images out of my mind one by one as they surfaced: reading together on a blanket by the seaside on vacations, discussing literature over cups of steaming melted chocolate with our feet by the fire on a cold winter’s night, or him smiling at me like I was the only one who mattered to him in the world.
Those were figments of an overactive imagination, but hardly realistic.
I was much too intelligent to think we would get along for a minute, let alone a lifetime. “Not at all,” I spat.
A flash of vulnerability crossed his face so quickly I almost missed it. “Is there any quality I possess that you might be drawn toward?”
I set my jaw. I didn’t want to wound him overmuch, but I had to be firm so there was no doubt in his mind. “You are a decent fellow for some. But there is nothing that even the devil himself could say that would tempt me to accept your suit.”
He drew his cheeks in and scoffed. “Nothing that would tempt you? So then you do not find me even the least bit attractive?”
Could he be more conceited? “I have more fondness for a half-dead tree.”
“Half-dead tree,” he repeated.
I cleared my throat. I would revise that insult later. I was merely grateful some of my words were making sense at all.
Rowan pushed away from the wall and closed the gap between us with two purposeful steps toward me, leaning his head terribly near mine. “Then being this near to me shouldn’t bother you at all.”
I wanted to pull away, but I couldn’t show any sign of weakness. I shook my head and held firm.
He lowered his head another inch.
Heat flooded my cheeks, and I could barely think past his warm breath on my lips. My heart thudded dangerously in my chest, like a warning drum.
Danger. Danger. Danger!
No one had died from being near a man before, had they? If he dared kiss me, I might expire. But he wouldn’t dare . . .
Or would he?
My skin tingled and my lips softened, waiting for the inevitable. A strange curiosity flared in my chest. I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to kiss Rowan Ashworth. That’s all this uncanny pull between us was. Curiosity.
And the smallest bit of desire.
His eyes drifted closed.
My own eyes followed suit—wanting what I shouldn’t want.
Then nothing.
I opened them again.
His eyes were open too, his lips curled into a smile. “I have my answer.”
“W-what?” I stuttered, completely dazed.
“You’re a liar, Arabella Delafield. You’re more drawn to me than you dare admit. So fight all you want, but in the end, we both know I’m the only one for you.”
I swallowed, incapable of mustering more than a whisper. “You’re delusional.”
“You’re right. I did have some delusions where you were concerned. My vision is clearing rapidly now. When you’re ready for that kiss, let me know. I’ll be all too happy to finish this.”
He turned toward the drawing room door and stalked inside.
I sputtered. Me? Ask him to kiss me? He was mad!
And yet, I could barely catch my breath.
He hadn’t been right, had he? We weren’t meant to be together.
Just because our parents thought we were a sweet pair when we were no more than babies did not make it so.
He was still thinking of me as Miss Page.
That was the only logical answer. He wasn’t seeing clearly; he was forgetting. Forgetting years of contention.
But I would not forget. I would not excuse his cruelty for a passing attraction.
My conscience pricked. I suppose I could forgive a few small indiscretions if he could.
I could overlook when he had passed by me as a child and pulled my hair.
I could excuse when he’d called me a giraffe or string bean and snickered when no one was looking because I had grown faster than the boys my age.
But only because I had gotten even with him by tripping him with my long legs so he fell into the creek, and by hiding his slingshot.
But some things were too hard to forget. Some things stay with a person, pulling tears from their eyes years later, keeping them awake night after night, repeating in one’s mind until one actually believes them . . . effectively ruining all their hopes and dreams.
My throat tightened. I had wanted to publish my work. I had wanted to have my books found in small, obscure bookshops like Inkwell Books Etc. I had wanted to bring someone else joy with my words.
But his cruelty had paralyzed my courage.
And I despised him for it.
Or at least I had . . . and I was desperately trying to hold on to those feelings before they were entirely replaced by this new sensation that tucked around me like the warmth of a coverlet.
I set my hand on my cheek and tried to pull the remaining heat from it. Clodwick was the man for me. Clodwick! With a shaky breath, I followed Rowan into the drawing room, my feet dragging with every reluctant step.